


The 7 Cities Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Intrigue, Nuclear Weapons, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya are tasked with finding a  T.H.R.U.S.H. agent who's gone rogue. As revenge, he threatens to destroy seven cities, the homes to 7 satrapies,  with atomic bombs.   There's one complication for the U.N.C.L.E. agents, they must work with the enemy to complete their mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Frau Flora and Garonne for their translations!

“Gentlemen it has come to our attention that this man, a member of THRUSH, has gone rogue,” Alexander Waverly announced to his two top field agents. "His name is Willie Altschuler and he has been with their organization for quite some time. His aspirations had been to become a member of the High Council but he has been turned down again and again, despite being one of their top operatives.

 Illya passed a photograph of the man to his partner with a shrug.

 “He isn’t much to look at,” Napoleon said; noting the man was balding and looked somewhat out of shape. If he wasn’t in his forties, he most certainly appeared to be.

 “Looks can be deceiving Mr. Solo; in this case we can only presume this is a true photograph of Altschuler, as he’s been known to be a master of disguise.”

 “How is it we have never encountered this man before?” Kuryakin inquired.

 “He has operated mainly behind the iron curtain, specifically in East Germany, where he is from, and has wreaked havoc over the years with the STASI. So given UNCLE rarely ventures into that territory, it is understandable you haven’t had contact with him.”

 Napoleon and Illya gave a quick glance at each other. The Soviet Union was not exactly the safest place for Illya to be in, given the KGB’s dislike of him since he joined UNCLE. Though he was the most qualified to work behind the Iron Curtain; his incursions into that territory were far and few between, and thankfully so. There was no love lost between he, a former GRU agent, and the secret police of the German Democratic Republic.

 “So will we be heading to East Germany sir?” Napoleon asked.

 “No Mr.Solo. You will be heading to Las Vegas. Rumor has it the man has been operating there, gambling to raise money to fund his plan.”

 “And that is?” Illya asked.

 “He has threatened to destroy a number of key THRUSH satrapies as revenge for his being rejected by the Council.”

 “Why would that be our concern; if he eliminates these satraps would that not be in our favor?” Illya pushed aside the file.

 “On face value one might say yes but in this case the answer is a definitive no, Mr. Kuryakin, as his plan is a dangerous one. You see he has threatened to plant seven nuclear devices at THRUSH locations around the world.  

It goes without saying, if detonated, they would have disastrous results not just for THRUSH but for the world population. The spread of nuclear fallout would would kill and injure millions of innocents. It would affect the earth for years to come, not to mention these bombs could trigger a nuclear war between the major powers of the United States and the Soviet Union.”

 “Perhaps we could convince him to join our side,” Napoleon asked.” I’m sure he has enough information about his former employers to help tip the scales in our favor. What better revenge than to help UNCLE?”

 Waverly tapped the bowl of his pipe in the crystal ashtray in front of himself; putting the mouthpiece back in his mouth and biting down on it.

 “One would think that Mr. Solo, but apparently he has a much more specific idea as to what constitutes revenge; the consequences be damned.”

 Waverly passed another document to his CEA.

 “We just received this coded message via THRUSH channels, and the person it is from might interest you, Mr. Solo.  Angelique La Chien has made an offer to join forces with UNCLE in locating and eliminating Mr. Altschuler. Apparently THRUSH is taking his threat seriously, though in the past they could have cared less if they lost a satrap and the people manning it as we know their lack of concern for human life.”

 “Still, I think they realize the ramifications of seven nuclear bombs being detonated are even too much for their bloodthirsty aspirations for world dominance. The earth would be inundated and those who survived, well I don’t even want to think about that. Humankind could be genetically altered for generations, if not permanently. This could in fact signal the beginning of the end for life on earth if these bombs were permitted to detonate.”

 Illya’s eyebrows raised as he looked at the letter from Angelique. The mention of her name made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle; he detested the woman, for all the good it would do. Napoleon’s dalliances with her never made sense to him, though there were times the American claimed it was for information sharing.

 In Illya’s estimation it was more for the sharing of bodily fluids, lustful gratification and nothing more.

 “And we are going to take her up on this offer?”

 “Yes Mr. Kuryakin we are.”

 “To what advantage? She would merely be keeping tabs on us.”

 Napoleon let loose a smile. “Ah partner mine, haven’t you ever heard the old adage...’ _keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?_ It works both ways you know.  We’ll know what she’s up to as well.

 “True Mr. Solo, but Angelique La Chien will give us a distinct advantage as she knows the locations of most of her organization's major satraps. No doubt THRUSH will have other operatives scouring the globe for Altschuler, as will we. UNCLE won’t put all its eggs in one basket as it were,” the Old Man winked.

 ”Though I do feel that sending my best agents will be giving us our greatest chance of stopping him. With her knowledge our odds of success will have increased exponentially. I have however, had to give her one concession and that was there would be no retaliation against the satraps she reveals to us, at least for the next month.”

 “None at all?” Napoleon was surprised at that revelation, though not when it came to Angelique. She was quite the little negotiator, and usually got what she wanted, he had personal experience in that area... _very personal._  Who knew what other caveats Waverly had agreed to that he wasn’t telling them about. The man was known for not revealing all the facts, and often kept information to himself.

 The Old Man tossed a pair of airline tickets to the table, sending them around to his agents.

 “Your flight leaves this evening and you’ll be staying at the Remington Casino just outside of Las Vegas. Bring tuxedos gentleman as this is one of the more exclusive gambling establishments. It’s not even located on the famous Sunset Strip. Altschuler has been spotted there and it is presumed he is gathering most of his money, by cheating at whatever game he’s chosen. We don’t know if he has any bombs ready yet, and to presuppose he doesn’t would be foolhardy on our part. “

 “And Angelique sir?” Napoleon asked.

 "She will contact you there. Good luck gentlemen, if ever you needed it, this is the time. I will expect regular check-ins if you please. Work quickly on this one, as the world’s safety truly depends upon your success more than ever. Now dismissed.”

 He waved them off with his hand, sending them on their way with little more than the photograph and their tickets.

 They walked down the corridor together; Solo being the first to speak.

 “Hmmm, laying it on a little thick ‘the world’s safety depends upon you.’ Like we don’t know that already,” Napoleon mildly complained.

 “My friend, when does it not depend upon our success? However, the presence of Angelique has me concerned.”

 'You’re letting your dislike of her color your opinion tovarisch.”

 “And what of it? I will admit I do not like or trust her. How could she possibly help us in Las Vegas?

 “Well for one, she knows what Altschuler looks like for sure and can identify him, and how do we know there isn’t a satrap there?

 “And if he is in disguise? What good will she be then?”

 “Leave it to you to think of that… come on let’s get down to wardrobe.”

 “So we could be starting off this mission with a potential big bang,”Illya mused.

 “Being negative already?”

 "No just being realistic.”

 

After they picked up their tuxedos and other clothing appropriate for the assignment from wardrobe, they headed for the Commissary, but as soon as they walked in they did an about face. The disgusting odor coming from the room was overwhelming.

 “Cookie has outdone himself this time, “Napoleon mumbled. “It smelled like rotten eggs in there.”

 “It was rotten eggs,” one of the secretaries said as she quickly exited, holding a perfumed handkerchief over her nose, trying not to get sick. “That idiot left a whole crate of eggs unrefrigerated for weeks _and_ sitting next to a heating vent. He swore he thought it was a box of new dishes. Oh my God, the stench is awful, “ she finally gagged. “Some of the eggs exploded.”

 “Hmm, perhaps a new weapon to be added to the UNCLE arsenal, courtesy of Charlie the cook,” Illya chuckled.

 “Don’t let that idea get out to Accounting chum. They’ll take away our C-4 and give us a carton of exploding eggs instead.”

 “Hey it worked for THRUSH with their exploding apples?” Kuryakin snickered.

 “Yeah, well you use rotten eggs if you want to Illya. I’ll stick with more conventional weapons.”

 “I did not say I wanted to use them, I was merely discussing the efficacy of such a weapon.” 

Napoleon shot him one of his snarky looks. Only Illya would follow that line of thinking…

 They headed out of the building to their usual haunt, Chang's Chinese restaurant a few blocks away from headquarters. It was a chilly February day, around 23 degrees, and they opted for a taxi this time instead of walking.

 After their an enthusiastic welcome from the restaurant owner, they settled into their regular booth in the back, out of view from most of the other patrons.

 Lunch was basic, an order of beef with broccoli for Napoleon, Illya had chicken with cashew nuts, and both opted for hot egg drop soup, and a large pot of green tea accompanied by egg and spring rolls.

 Just as they were finishing their meal, a familiar scent filled the air.. _.bal à versailles_ perfume. That could only mean one person, as she started wearing the new fragrance as soon as it came out. It was not an inexpensive one either.

 “Serena, fancy meeting you here. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit; you are visiting aren’t you?” Napoleon asked.

 “Yes what is the reason you see fit to disturb our lunch?” Illya added, his voice somewhat terse.

 “Can’t a girl just stop by to say hello?” Her accented voice though dangerous was still alluring.

 She responded in German, leaning forward to show off a bit of her cleavage.

 “Is it me or is it a touch chilly in here?” Napoleon eyed her bustline. “Seriously you want us to believe that you just want to say hello?” Napoleon smiled,’You always have a reason for everything my dear.”

" _Mir? Wie kannst du mir so etwas unterstellen? Das ist ziemlich gemein von dir, wo ich doch nur nett sein wollte. (Me? How can you assume something like that? That's pretty mean of you, while I just wanted to be nice)_

“With your track record, it is not that difficult to presume,” Illya quipped.

 “Oh as miserable as ever aren’t you Kuryakin. Napoleon dearest, how do you tolerate working with such a man?” She didn’t wait for a reply...

  _“Lebt wohl, meine Lieblings spione._ ”

 Serena spun on her heel, whipping her long fur scarf around her neck and quickly disappeared out the door.

 “Well she did call us her favorite spies,” Napoleon smiled.

 “Though I find it odd she used _Lebt wohl_ instead of _Auf Wiedersehen_ . It was so dramatic and ...terminal, more permanent than just a mere _goodbye_ ,” Illya pointed out.

 ”Why do I have a feeling she knows about this joint UNCLE-THRUSH effort. It is as if she expects us to die soon. I would assume she does know of Altschuler's threat.”

 “You’re just being paranoid, and since when do you make assumptions without having all the facts?” Napoleon smiled as he took a last sip of tea.

 “I think not, but it is merely a bit of intuition on my part. Is there something wrong with that?”

 That made Solo squirm just a little; when came to Illya’s gut feelings, things generally went from bad to worse.

 

The partners returned to headquarters, finishing up some reports in their office before they gathered their luggage and supplies of UNCLE gadgets before heading out to the airport.

 After a brief wait before boarding, they were finally winging their way to Vegas. The flight would take roughly six hours, much shorter than they were accustomed to traveling since the majority of their assignments as of late had been to Europe.

 The inflight movie was unappealing, especially to the Russian. The idea of a musical just didn’t seem right to him, an operatic story was fine, but this _‘Music Man’_ bit of fluff was pure nonsense. He laid back his head, opting to catch up on his sleep while Napoleon continued to pursue his favorite past time and that was flirting with the comely stewardesses, who didn’t seem to mind a bit flirting back with the handsome American.  

Solo would most likely end up with their telephone numbers, but as to securing dates, Illya knew his partner would forego such pleasures given the importance of their assignment.

 An announcement from the pilot woke Kuryakin from a deep sleep, so much so that he even passed on the inflight meal. For some reason when flying on a plane with Napoleon, his slumber was more relaxed; he guessed it was because the likelihood of being attacked was low on the scale of probabilities.

 He wiped the sleep from his eyes, focusing on the announcement. They’d be landing in another ten minutes. The weather report gave the temperature in the mid-sixties.  Though Kuryakin was very accustomed to the cold weather, such temperatures gave a welcome respite from bulky winter coats, hats and scarves…galoshes too.

The landing was smooth and the agents waited as the rest of the passengers deplaned, being last to leave as was their habit, just in case to cover their backs.

They breathed in the fresh night air of the desert as they stepped out to the top of the stairs; their winter coats thrown over their arms.

 “Now this is more like it chum,” Napoleon stretched, taking in another deep breath.

 “May I remind you we are not here for the weather.”

 “You’re forever putting the _kibosh_ on things for me aren’t you?”

 “If by _kibosh_ , I am guessing you mean putting a damper, then yes. We need to remain focused my friend.”

 “Don’t worry your little blond knoggin. My head is in the right place I promise. I know this is a big one we’re up against.”

 “That makes me feel much better,” Illya said sarcastically as they stepped down to the tarmac.” By the way, what language is this _kibosh_? I am unfamiliar with the word.”

 "It’s a Gaelic term that translates to _‘the cap of death,’_ referring to the black cap worn by a judge passing the sentence of capital punishment. So your guess at its meaning contextually was close enough.”

 Illya stopped and stared at the American for a second.”Napoleon I am quite impressed.”

 “What, I can’t know a few things now and then my encyclopedic friend?” He chuckled, admitting he’d learned it as a child from his Irish nanny who was quite knowledgeable when it came to teaching him the facts of life as well.

 That elicited a chuckle from the usually serious Russian.

 “You had a nanny?”

 “Well she was more for my sisters, but since my brother  and I were around, we learned a few things from her.”

 “One could only imagine,” Illya mumbled.

 “You have _no_ idea tovarisch,” Napoleon winked.

 “Oh I think I do…”

 Together they walked into the main terminal, located the luggage carousel and collected their belongings. Ten minutes later they were in a taxi headed for the Remington.

 They were driven along the famous Strip, gaudily lit by so many bright neon lights, flashing in a cacophony of color. Figures danced, hands waved, playing cards winked on and off. There was music coming from within the casinos, and people outside calling out and extolling the virtues of their particular gambling establishment.

Illuminated palm trees, cowboys, showgirls and marquees were everywhere. The driver pointed out the different casinos and who was headlining where.  

 “Now the Sands is going to have a great show with Dean Martin, maybe Sinatra, and Sammy Davis Jr. too. They tend to show up for each other.”

 “That’s a show I wouldn’t mind seeing,” Napoleon remarked.

 “That is a show I myself would forego my friend.”

 “ _Tovarisch,_ ” Solo discreetly whispered so the driver wouldn’t hear, “as I said before, you’re just no fun sometimes. Martin is an idol in the Italian-American community, as is Sinatra and with the addition of Sammy Davis Jr. they've become known as the famous Rat Pack.”

 “Rat Pack? That does not sound very enticing. Why would a group of entertainers want to be called that? When I was growing up a rat was something looked upon as food, a distasteful one but it kept you from starving.”

 Napoleon shook his head. It just wasn’t worth getting into this. “Never mind, it’s not really important.”

 Twenty-five minutes later the cab pulled curbside to the entrance of the Remington Casino and Hotel. It was tastefully appointed, with a lit sign and marquee advertising a young singing sensation named Wayne Newton.

 The the hotel numbered a dozen floors with the casino standing beside it.

 A bellhop dressed in a short double-breasted red jacket, black trousers, red cap and white gloves came out immediately with a luggage trolley, taking Solo’s valise both their garment bags.

 Illya insisted upon holding onto their silver briefcases and his duffle bag, knowing they were packed with a plethora of weapons and explosives tucked in with his incidental clothing. He had a sudden vision of one of them falling off the trolley, popping open and spewing the contents all over the ground.

 “Not bad,” Napoleon remarked,” eyeing the lavish palm tree and gilt appointed lobby. It screamed opulence. Guests were handsomely attired in tuxedos and dinner jackets and the ladies in tea length sequined chiffon dresses seemed to be the norm.

 The agents checked in at the desk and were pleasantly surprised they had separate rooms for once.

 As they headed up to the fifth floor, Illya mentioned the difficulty level of their situation.

 “You know it is going to be like looking for a needle in the haystack.”

 “You read my mind tov...chum. Who knows what he’s going to look like or if he has any idea we’re looking for him.”

 “I wonder when Angelique will make her presence known to us?”

 “I am sure she has already seen us, though we have not seen her. Therefore, I think it is safe to assume we will be hearing from her very soon.”

 “Illya, I for one want to take a quick shower before I change into my tux and head down to the casino, or maybe get some dinner?”

 “Excuse me for listening in sir,” the elevator boy interrupted,”but the casino has a free buffet so you could eat there.”

 “Thank you,” Napoleon smiled as he reached into his pocket, giving the young freckle faced fellow a tip.

 The doors opened to their floor, revealing more potted palm trees on either side of the elevator. The floor itself was covered with a lush Persian style carpeting, and highly polished brass art deco lighting fixtures; the walls were appointed with white wainscot.

 The bellhop rolled the trolley to their doors unloading Illya’s first, and receiving nothing but a thank you before Kuryakin ducked into his room. The it was to Solo’s room where the young man stood, holding out his hand.

 “Oh yes the tip,” Napoleon shrugged, digging into his pocket again and handing him the money and thinking to himself that he needed to talk to Illya about that. He knew the Russian was a bit of a tightwad, but this was an environment where tipping was expected.

 Napoleon was a bit surprised UNCLE was flitting the bill for separate accommodations in a pricey place like this, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 Illya quickly closed the door behind him, and drawing his weapon; he checked for intruders as well as bugs. Once satisfied everything was clear, he pulled his communicator.

 They had agreed he would make the first check-in with Waverly.v“Open Channel D- Waverly.”

 “Yes Mr. Kuryakin.”

 “Mr. Solo and I have arrived at the Remington. No contact with Miss La Chien as of yet sir. Though I’m sure we'll be hearing from her soon.”

 “Well let me know when you do. Out.” Short and sweet. Typical of Alexander Waverly as the man never minced words.

 Illya unpacked his bag, hung up his suits and tuxedo and following his partners suggestion, he decided to take a quick shower as well.

 

Napoleon closed his door behind him, locked it and withdrew his gun; walking through his suite with caution as he checked for company and any listening devices. He slowly opened the bedroom door, and it was then his instincts went on full alert. The bed was unmade and it looked as if someone had been ...no, _was_ in it.

 “Who are you?” He pointed his Special at the intruder.

 “Oh darling put that thing away before someone gets hurt.”

 He huffed, slipping his gun back into its holster as he stepped over to the bed.

 “I knew you’d be contacting us, but I didn’t expect it to be like this?” He smiled at her, seeing as she sat up in the bed that she was obviously naked beneath the sheets.

 “It eliminated a lot of walking for me. I had no desire to look for you and I figured this would be much more convenient, sharing a room with you.”

 “Sharing? As in this is your room too?”

 “You heard me right. Your cheapskate organization had you staying with the Russian in the same room, and I had no desire for a threesome, at least not with him, so I paid for a separate room for just you and me darling,” she practically cooed at him as she let the sheet drop now, revealing her beautiful breasts.

“Angelique, this isn’t really a good time...ah for indulging ourselves. We need to get going to find this Willie Altschuler don’t we? I’ll get my things and bunk with Illya if you don’t mind?”

 “I do mind Napoleon Solo. These are my terms; you want my help then you stay here with me, and besides I know sex relaxes you. Right now you do look a bit tense to me darling.”

 “Well I am a little.” He sat down beside her and instantly they were in each other's arms. Napoleon threw caution to the wind when it came to her. She helped him remove his clothing, and lifting the covers; she spread her legs, inviting him in.

Napoleon gladly obliged her welcome...


	2. Chapter 2

Illya had the shower going at full blast, letting the pulsating water massage his scar-covered back. His shower at home had no such pressure nor fancy fixtures to do such things and he was going to take advantage of it while here.

Once done lathering and rinsing he stepped out to the bath mat, grabbing a plush hotel robe hanging on a hook, compliments of the hotel. This he thought was a nice plus and would remind himself to bring it home with him. He doubted accounting would ask him to turn it in, post mission. It was part of the cost of the room, so why waste it? He grabbed a towel, quickly rubbing his hair dry and hanging it up when he was done with it.

He looked in the steamy mirror, taking the towel again and wiping it off. Perhaps he needed a shave, looking at himself and feeling his chin; he drew his razor from his kit, giving it a quick sharpening with a heavy leather strop before he lathered up his shaving dish.

Snickering for a second; he knew that if Napoleon were here, there’d be comments about him getting rid of his ‘dead man’s razor’ in favor a safety razor or better still and electric one.  His feelings were that his razor not only served a practical purpose, but it was useful as a weapon as well.

  
Having it helped cut he and Solo free of their bonds when the two of them had once been taken captive and thrown into their hotel bathroom; a safety razor or electric one could not have been used for such a quick escape, all thanks an old fashioned straight razor.

Once his grooming was complete, he dressed himself in his tuxedo. The seamstress had done a good job fitting the white jacket and black trousers to his lean figure, and for once there would be no wisecracks on the part of his partner about the black tux that he owned and usually wore with the ruffled shirt. This was top drawer as Napoleon would say.

Illya stood in front of his dressing mirror, admiring the fit and as the final touch he tied his bow-tie. The holster and gun beneath the jacket were hidden perfectly, no telltale bulge at all.  

He tucked a few other gadgets into his pockets, and  some C-4 into the false heel in one of his dress shoes. His cufflinks were special, ones that would help him win at the roulette wheel if cash was needed, that was of course once he substituted a pair of dice with electronic receivers in them.

Lastly he picked up his communicator, deciding it was time to contact Napoleon to see if he was ready.

“Channel F-Solo.”

He waited for what he would be tempted to call an inordinate amount of time before his partner finally responded, seeming rather breathless at that.

“Solo here…” he gasped.

“Are you all right? Why are you out of breath?”

There was a muffled giggle in the background.

" _Napoleon_ ,” Illya growled,” how in the hell did you manage to find a woman already? Can you not control yourself?”

“Weeeeell, she sort of found me.”

“Hello Illya,”Angelique purred.

Solo could just tell his partner was rolling those blue eyes of his.

“She was here waiting for me.”

“Well that solves us.. _.you _ meeting up with her. When will you both be decent, as we have an appointment with the casino?”

There was a muffled sound, as it was obvious Napoleon was covering the mic on his communicator. “Give us ten minutes  _ tovarisch. _ ”

“Ten minutes Napoleon Solo, are you mad?” Angelique blurted out, I need at least a half-hour to shower and do my makeup and hair and clothing and I assure you that is record time for me.”

‘You heard?”

“How could I not? I will knock on your door in forty-five minutes, giving her highness and extra fifteen minutes to apply enough makeup on her ghastly face.”

Angelique stuck out her tongue at the communicator but said nothing until Solo closed it.

“How can you tolerate that insect of a man? He never has anything good to say, and is always so miserable.”

“Angelique, he’s a lot nicer than you want to give him credit for, if you only knew him well enough.”

“That darling, is never going to happen.”  

She slipped from the bed, surprisingly wrapping herself in the sheet and headed to the bathroom. “Dearest, restrain yourself. I want no company while I bathe.”

“I think I can manage to control myself...leave me some hot water will you?” He realized that was a rather silly thing to say in a hotel like this.

She snickered as she closed the door in his face.

While she was in the shower, Solo took the time to go through her luggage, finding nothing surprising; an extra pistol, some explosive devices, sleep cigarettes, handcuffs.

He laid out his tuxedo, waiting for the bathroom to be freed up. Showering and shaving wouldn’t take him very long, especially if he were alone.

Twenty minutes later Angelique emerged, wrapped in a fluffy white terrycloth robe, her hair and makeup impeccably done.

“It’s all yours, and I left you plenty of hot water, don’t worry.”

“Oh I wasn’t,” he winked, closing the door and locking it.  Placing his kit on the counter along with his gun;  his shower was quick as was his shave with his electric razor. When he emerged, Angelique was nowhere in sight.

He changed into his tux, fitting his holster and Special into into place. Napoleon was careful as he dressed as the buttons on his shirt were the explosive kind as were his cufflinks.

“Angelique?” He finally called her.

“Here in the sitting room.” She emerged through the bedroom door wearing a stunning white tea length chiffon dress with a beaded bodice, just cut low enough to reveal a bit of her stunning cleavage. She draped a white fur stole across her shoulders, while holding a matching beaded bag in her hand.

It was obvious to him she wanted to make an entrance.

She did a little turn in place. “What do you think darling?”

“Stunning as always,” he smiled charmingly. Solo approached her, giving the THRUSH agent a peck on the cheek, while running his hand along her thigh.

“My pistol is strapped to my other leg dearest, and I have a small one in my purse, along with my pair of handcuffs. I’m sure you know about those after searching my luggage.”

Napoleon gave her no reaction. “Hmmm, handcuffs might come in handy whenever we make it back to bed.”

"You are a naughty boy Napoleon Solo, I suppose that is one of the reasons why I adore you.”

A coded knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

“Ah the insipid Russian, always on time isn’t he?”

“Angelique, I think you need to lay off him, at least for now? All right?” Napoleon warned.

“Oh if you insist, even though it’s fun jabbing at him, trying to get a rise. Is he always so cold? What do your people call him…’the Ice Prince?’ Such a fitting name for him as far as I can see, he’s as cold as a Beluga whale.”

“Dear I hate to tell you but Beluga whales, like all whales, are mammals and therefore warm-blooded creatures,” he tried not to laugh. “Now I believe we need to let my partner in, if you don’t mind.”

Napoleon opened the door, seeing his partner standing there looking quite dapper in his fitted tux.

“Well don’t you clean up nicely tovarisch,” he smiled.

Illya grunted his reply as he stepped inside, seeing Angelique standing behind his partner. He looked her up and down, saying nothing.

“See, I told you Napoleon...colder than a fish.”

“Angelique, enough.”

“I think we need to get going. I would hate to miss our quarry because of your rendezvous with my partner Angelique. You are sure you will recognize him?” Illya handed Napoleon a copy of the photograph Waverly had given them.

She snatched it from Solo’s fingers, eyeing it carefully.

”Yes this is him, though I believe he’s lost a fair amount of weight since this was taken and he most likely will be wearing a toupee. He’s rather short...you’re height Illya.” She couldn’t resist getting in one last dig at the Russian.

She handed the photo back to the American, and Napoleon opened the door, waving his hand in front of himself.  _  “Après vous mademoiselle.” _

The two UNCLE agents followed her out into the corridor, and Solo offered her his arm as they walked to the elevator; Illya trailing behind them.

“Wooof,” the Russian made a barking noise, in reference to Angelique’s last name no doubt.

Napoleon caught it instantly.”Illya, you knock it off too.” He could hear his partner sniggering but ignored it, speaking instead about the ‘plan.’

“When we get to the casino it might be a good idea to separate for a bit,” he said. We can meet at the the Baccarat table, say after a half hour?”

“Does he know what you look like?” Illya asked the woman.

“I met him once, ever so briefly years ago at a Council meeting when I was much younger, and a brunette. I don’t think he’ll remember me.”

“You were a brunette?” Napoleon asked as they stepped onto the elevator.

“Just for an assignment dear, you of all people know I’m a  _ natural  _ blonde,” she responded nonchalantly.

“Casino,”Illya said to the elevator operator, ignoring what Angelique had just said.

The elevator door opened to a cacophony of sight and sound, with all the bells and whistles from the gaming machines blasting away. Music, flashing lights and cigarette smoke surrounded the throngs of well dressed people milling about, sitting at the slot machines or tables, winning and losing their money without a thought.

“Which way do you think?”

“First let’s head to the buffet, grab some food and we can wander around, it’ll make us look less conspicuous,” Napoleon said.

He’d suggested it deliberately, knowing his partner was hungry, and annoyed about Angelique. What better way to soothe the savage Illya than to let him have a little food.

The buffet was spectacular with carving stations of turkey and ham, omelettes made to order, sausages, bacon, vegetables, fruit salads. meatballs, all sorts of pasta dishes, lobster, caviar...  The last two items drew Angelique and Illya’s immediate attention.

He filled a plate with lobster tails already cleaned from the shells along with caviar, and she a plate of caviar with crackers.  Napoleon opted for some miniature meatballs, small enough that he could spear them with a toothpick.

“What’s his favorite game?” He whispered to her, popping a meatball into his mouth.

“He plays many games of chance, slot machines, blackjack, roulette mostly. This information I gleaned from his files.” She used a teaspoon to put a small amount of caviar and devoured it.

“Okay then, let's split up…”Solo reached into his pocket, removing a communicator pen. “This is only a loan,” he said handing to Angelique.

“I presume you understand how it works,” Illya said, biting into a lobster tail.

She looked at his plate. “You are a pig Kuryakin, look how much food you have piled on your plate. Have you no manners?”

He was going to say something about his high metabolism, but stopped himself as it would be giving personal information over to the enemy and something that could be used against him someday.

“What can I tell you, I like lobster and of course being Russian, caviar is like candy to me.”

She turned her nose up in the air in disdain.“Will you two knock it off.” Napoleon interrupted. “Angelique you take the blackjack tables, Illya slots and I’ll check out the roulette wheel. We rotate positions in fifteen minutes. Understood?”

Angelique had been given a modified communicator just to be able to keep in contact with the two of them and nothing more.

“Oh one other thing,” Illya said. “Depress that little button on the side of the communicator to silence it; it will vibrate instead.”

It was a little development being tested by Kuryakin and R&D.

The others nodded their approval before disappearing into the crowd.

Illya headed to the cashier’s desk, handing over a hundred dollar bill and getting change for the slots and chips for roulette and blackjack, just in case. Standing around and eating but not gambling would eventually become suspicious; if Altschuler was the caliber agent Waverly said he was, the man would be on constant alert. He found himself a likely spot, giving him a good view of the rows of the one arm bandits, placing the plate with the remainder of his food on top of the machine he’d laid claim to for the moment.

Illya sat sideways, as he dropped a coin in the slot and pulling the lever, not even watching for the results. He repeated that action again and again, only stopping gather any coins he’d won and put them in a cardboard cup supplied by the casino.

He reached up, grabbing the last lobster tail, turning his head again to observe the other players, when a scantily clad waitress stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

“Good evening sir, would you care for a drink?” She held a tray in her hand, with and order book laying on it.

Illya looked her up and down; her hourglass figure appearing to have been poured into the little sequined bathing suit-like costume she wore.  She had a fair amount of cleavage showing, enough to get the Russian’s attention and for a moment he wished he could explore those glorious breasts.

He shook himself back to reality. “Yes, please…do you have Stoli?”

“But of course sir. How would you like it?”

Illya swallowed hard…”Ummm, straight up Miss, but chilled if you can, thank you.”

She smiled at him as she wrote down his order and location. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your drink sir. Good luck with the slots.”

He nodded his thanks and looked past her immediately. There he was!

Willie Altschuler had parked himself not three slot machines away from him. Illya turned his back to the man, concealing himself as he pulled his communicator.  “Channel F-Solo. There was a moment of silence before his partner responded.

“Solo, you spot him?”

“Yes by the slot machines.”

“Just stay with him, don’t do anything. If he leaves, follow but keep your distance, do your invisible thing.”

“Understood. Out.”

Illya continued to observe him; Angelique was right, he’d slimmed down compared to the picture, and he was indeed wearing a dark toupee but sported a moustache as well, fake no doubt.

The Russian continued to absentmindedly feed his coins to the slot machine, needing to maintain his cover as a gambler.

Suddenly just as Altschuler stood, leaving his seat, a loud bell went off at Illya’s machine, and a light on top of it began to flash. He’d hit the jackpot.

He looked frantically as the coins began to topple out of the machine, some cascading to the floor. He stuck his large cup there, catching them and handing an empty one to an older lady sitting next to him at her own machine, inviting her to his.

“Here mother, this is yours...a gift.”

He took off after Altshuyler, not waiting for the woman to respond, even though he’d just handed her five hundred dollars…

His communicator in hand, he whispered, “Channel F-Angelique he is headed your way. Dark toupee, moustache.”

“How can that be? He is already here and has been for ten minutes?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Napoleon instantly spotted their quarry, though the man was thinner as Angelique had said; he wa sporting a dark hair piece and had a moustache, whether it was real or not, it was hard to tell.

He pulled his communicator, signaling his partner.

“He’s just stepped up to the blackjack table.”

“Napoleon, how can that be? I am following him from the slot machines.

Angelique broke in on her communicator. “No, he has been at the roulette wheel for the last ten minutes.”

“Decoys, obviously. Clever fellow’s not taking any chances. I’ll bet my bottom dollar that none of them are him, but where could he be?” Solo paused, tapping his finger against his temple. “Hold on a second.”

“Excuse me,” he turned to a passing cocktail waitress,” but is there a private gaming room for high rollers Miss?”

“Why yes sir, just go to the main desk and they’ll register you. Identification is required for entry. It’s pretty ritzy and plenty of celebrities go there. They want to gamble with a bit of privacy so there won’t be fans crawling all over them, lot’s of millionaires too,” she practically sighed.

“Thank you Miss,” Solo placed a sizable tip on her drink tray.’

“Gee, thanks mister. I hope you win big tonight.”

“Me too.” He ducked to a corner hiding behind a lush palm, “Illya did you hear any of that?”

“Yes, I am heading…”

“No, I want you to stick with your man, just in case he’s the real McCoy. Tell Angelique to do the same thing.

“Too late,” Illya replied,” seeing the scene unfold at the Roulette table. The possible decoy that Angelique had been observing seems to have suffered some sort of attack and is lying on the floor, unconscious.”

“Hold on again Illya, I’m switching to her frequency.”

“Angelique, what the hell have you done?”

“And why do you presume I’ve done something darling?”

“Because I know you well enough. Now what have you been up to?” His voice was a little more demanding this time.

“Eliminated the target of course. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

It was all Napoleon could do from losing his temper. “What if he’s already planted the bombs? And how are we supposed to find out their locations if Altschuler’s dead?”

“Oh, well when you put it that way. Sorry, I guess I just was caught up in the moment.”

“Hmm, I don’t ever want to hear those words again unless we’re in bed together.”

“And how do you know we ever will be?” She toyed with him.

“We’ll talk about that later. The man you eliminated may have been a decoy or he could been the real Altschuler. I need you to come over to the blackjack table and keep an eye on another possible doppelganger, and just follow him understand? Illya is following one as well.”

Angelique stood aside as a first aid squad brought a stretcher to retrieve the man she’d just killed, simply by jabbing him with a hypodermic needle filled with a quick acting poison that would make it look like a heart attack.

She held her compact up, hiding the communicator behind it as she spoke. “Really, there are three of them? So if your little Russian and I are watching the remaining two, what will you be doing?”

“I have a feeling our real target is gambling in the private game room, a bit on anonymity, and protection from prying eyes for the big gamblers. If Altschuler wants to make money to fund his operation, that’s where he’ll really need to be.”

“Well if you’re right darling, I’ll be giving you a personal reward tonight in the privacy of our suite.”

“Is that a promise or a threat? Out.”

Solo approached the desk, requesting admittance to the back room as it were, and gave them his identification upon request. He quickly glanced at the register, seeing the name of Willie  Altschuler a home address, no doubt fake, listed in Germany, and his hotel room of all places, the penthouse suite.

“This way Mr. Solo,” the manager gestured, opening up a locked gate.

Napoleon followed him down a corridor to a pair of simple double doors. When they were opened, to an opulent crystal chandeliered room with thick burgundy velvet curtains and large potted palm trees. There was a private bar, a small buffet, and separate gaming tables for poker, baccarat, blackjack, and roulette; no noisy slot machines or flashing lights. The room was one of calm concentration, with light non-descript piano music playing in the background.

Solo stopped, scanning the room in search of Altschuler. There he was at the baccarat table, with a substantial pile of chips in front of him.

There were twenty or so men in the room, not including the employees; all well dressed as Napoleon had expected, wearing dinner jackets or tuxedos.

There was an air of confidence about them, as well as tension and anticipation.  Everything here was high stakes and each man no doubt was adept the their chosen game of chance. Still there could be a few cheaters among them.

The man he assumed to be Altschuler was one of those cheats. Yet he was a madman among men who were greedy perhaps, as well as the hopefuls. There were businessmen, members of society and entertainers, who were treated like royalty... in a country that threw off that mantle a long time ago, yet some people still yearned for kings and queens, didn’t they; raising celebrities to those positions.

“Any game in particular Mr. Solo?”

“Baccarat.”

“Very good sir, a chair has just become free.” He was escorted to the table and seated beside a very familiar face, one of those celebrities.

“Hello Mr. Martin,” Napoleon smiled.

“Why hello there, and what’s your name buddy?”Martin smiled back at him, sipping a glass of what appeared to be whiskey at first glance but was in reality, ice tea. His reputation as a heavy imbiber apparently was all an act.

“Solo, Napoleon Solo.”

“Hey a piasan, I have a cousin named Solo, maybe we’re related.  _ Parli italiano?” _

" _Sì un po '…”_ Napoleon grinned.

The two of them conversed for a moment until they were interrupted by a waitress  asking for drink orders. As was Napoleon’s poison of choice; he asked for a scotch on the rocks.

“Mr. Martin another _ drink _ for you?” She knew not to call it tea.

“Yes darlin’ and don’t forget no ice this time,” he whispered with a wink.”Gotta keep my reputation intact.”

“Will do Mr. Martin.”

He turned his attention back to Napoleon. “Call me Dean, we’re paisans, practically family. I have a reputation as a heavy drinker, and it’s all about keeping up appearances, smoke and mirrors buddy, smoke and mirrors.”

Napoleon was well acquainted with that concept. He glanced across the table at the other gamblers and before he even started to play; the man appearing to be Altschuler eyed him suspiciously.

“Damn,” he cursed to himself. Could Altschuler have heard him introduce himself to Dean? He should have used a cover name.

It had never occurred to him that even though he’d never heard of or met the man before, it was foolish to presume as a member of THRUSH, Altschuler had not heard of Napoleon Solo.

Both men locked eyes in a darkened gaze, but it was Altschuler who broke it first. He gathered his sizable cache of chips, tossing a tip to the croupier and stood.

“If you will excuse me _ , _ I’ve become fatigued and I do apologize for not giving you a chance to regain your losses to me.

He clicked his heels and quickly walked away, followed by an escort who carried a tray with the man’s winnings. He put on airs wishing his fellow gamblers a good evening, as if he were some  sort of German aristocrat, but he was far from that.

_  “Guten Abend meine Herren.” _

Napoleon slapped his breast and jacket pockets, “Will you look at that? I came down here without my wallet. How embarrassing. I beg your pardon Dean... gentlemen. I shall return.”

“Hey paisan, stay in touch if I don’t see you back here. I’m staying at the Sands. Stop by and we can have a chat, and maybe dinner? It’s nice to meet a regular guy who speaks the lingo from the old country.”

“Yes, I will. Napoleon waved to him.” He bypassed the waitress carrying his scotch. Heading straight for the exit; he pulled his communicator.

"Channel F-Illya. I think I’ve been made, Altschuler is on his way out of the…”

His sentence went unfinished as something hard came down on his head, knocking the American out cold.

When Napoleon awoke with a groan, he found himself lying in bed, his jacket and tie removed. There was a cold compress on his throbbing head.

“Oh darling you’ve finally joined us. How do you feel?” Angelique purred.

“Like I was hit in the head with a sledgehammer. What happened?”

“Very nearly that, “ Illya said, replacing the cloth on his partner’s forehead for a fresh, cool one.

“There was quite a disturbance in the casino, when word got out that a customer had been attacked and possibly robbed. The manager had you carried to his office. Someone named Martin sent his personal physician to check on you...luckily your thick American skull suffered no damage and you were brought here to your room.”

“And Altschuler?”

“I’m afraid darling that he got away, as did his stand-ins.”

“Napoleon you tried giving me a message, saying you had been made?”

Solo moaned, he’d made a rookie mistake and he knew it.“I used my own name instead of a cover when I introduced myself when being seated at the baccarat table. Altschuler was there and must have overheard me, he obviously recognized it as he quickly left the table...when he was winning. I followed him as he left the gaming room and, well the rest you know.”

“It must have been one of his minions who hit you on the head, my poor Napoleon,” Angelique tenderly ran her hand along his face, but he pushed it away.

“Wait, wait...he’s staying in the penthouse. I saw it on the registry book for the private gaming room.”

Illya was up in a flash. “You wait here my friend, you are in no condition…”

“The hell I will.” Napoleon sat up with a groan, grabbing his jacket from a nearby chair; steadying himself for a second. His gun was on the nightstand and that he snatched up, slipping it into his shoulder holster.

“Wait for me, I’m in on this too,” Angelique called after them as they headed out the door.

The ride in the elevator seemed to take forever until it opened to the foyer of the penthouse suite. The operator tried making polite conversation, but found himself ignored.

The elevator door opened, revealing a large foyer with black and white checkered flooring. The walls were white wainscot with highly polished told light fixtures, there were potted ferns everywhere.

As soon as the three agents stepped out to the floor, they waited for the  elevator doors to close behind them before drawing their guns and approached the penthouse entrance.

Illya listened carefully at the door, but hearing nothing; he knelt as he drew a lock pic from his pocket.  Seconds later it was opened and they slipped inside.

A quick search proved fruitless, Altschuler was gone and it looked like he’d left in a hurry.

“Shit!” Napoleon cursed, but suddenly froze as he spotted something on the floor beside the sleek black bar. It was a device with a timer.

“Illya is that what I think it is? A nuclear bomb.”

“My friend, your powers of observation never cease to amaze. From the looks of it, it is safe to assume it is the first of the threatened seven nuclear devices. Angelique is there a satrap near here?” Illya asked.

“Yes, in the desert, but it’s not a significant one. Destroying it would serve little purpose, as it’s simply a ... _ wait. _ It’s a clearinghouse for all the money THRUSH launders here in Las Vegas. At any one time there must be millions of dollars in cash there.”

“So destroying it would put a major dent into THRUSH funds?” Napoleon said.

“One would presume,” Illya said. “Whether he planned to detonate it here or bring it to the satrap is now a moot point as the countdown has begun.”

He pointed to the digital readout that was ticking away, and there wasn’t much time left...


	4. Chapter 4

It was an ominous announcement from the Russian.

”We have less less than ten minutes...there is no time for me to go get my tools. Angelique do you have anything sharp in your purse, nail clippers perhaps?”

“No but would a pair of cuticle scissors do or a nail file?.”

He flashed her a  _ ‘are you kidding’ _ look. “Both.”

Getting his facial expression; she dug into her beaded bag, quickly handing them to him.

“You know what you are doing?” The nervousness was obvious in her voice.

“Yes, now leave me be. We do not have much time.”

Illya knelt, using the metal nail file he unscrewed the top, carefully opening the device and examining the wiring. Seconds later he reached in with the cuticle scissors, and snip snip. The timer didn’t stop, but jumped ahead to one minute.

It was a fail safe, setup in case someone tampered with the device. He began to sweat profusely, letting a bead of sweat run down to the tip of his nose before he wiped it with his sleeve.

“Snip.” He cut one more wire and the timer stopped.  Illya finally exhaled. “We had better get a cleanup team in here and fast.”

“Do ya think? Good job tovarisch.” Solo gave his partner a hand up.

“Now what do we do?” Angelique interrupted them. “Altschuler suspects UNCLE is now in pursuit; he is going to make it harder for us to find him.”

“I suggest we head to the satrap. We know that he is gathering money to fund his plans, perhaps, given the fact we interrupted him here, he might go there to steal some currency?”Illya said,” There is the remote possibility he is setting another bomb there as we speak.”

“Oh joy,” Napoleon held his hand to his head, feeling a little dizzy.

They dashed to the elevator; all three crossing their arms in front of themselves and tapping their toes impatiently as they were forced to listen to an excruciating instrumental version of the song ‘Ramblin’ Rose.’

Finally the elevator doors opened to the lobby and they headed immediately to the exit.

A gentleman had just exited his silver Corvette convertible in front of the Remington, and Illya pushed his way forward stepping up to the man and holding out his hand, pretending to be the valet.

“Be careful not to scratch it or heads will roll.” He slipped Illya a five dollar bill.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir. I will be careful.” Kuryakin quickly nodded his head.

The man mindlessly handed him his keys and the Russian hopped into driver’s seat, starting the engine up with a roar while Napoleon got into the passenger seat, pulling Angelique onto his lap, since it was only a two seater.

“Punch it tovarisch!”

Illya floored the powerful V-8, tearing away from the front of the casino leaving a trail of smoking rubber.  That translated into truly ferocious 0-60-mph and quarter-mile acceleration: The four-speed hit the quarter-mile mark in less than 15 seconds as the car neared the 100 mph mark.

Angelique gave up worrying about her hair and simply wrapped her arms around Solo, while directing the mad Russian to the location of the satrap.

They pulled up to a simple warehouse style building out in the desert, with a white van parked in front of it. Exiting the Corvette with caution, they drew their weapons as there was no one in sight.

Napoleon nodded for them to head to the entrance, glancing in the open back of the van that was now filled with stack upon stack money. Not just American currency but Canadian bills, francs, English pounds, Italian lira,  and even Soviet ruble banknotes. He was financing his operation all right courtesy of his former employers.

Illya tried the doorknob, finding it open, but quickly backed off as he heard approaching voices. He held his finger to his lips as he warned Napoleon and Angelique.  

The door opened, hiding the agents behind it as Willie Altschuler and two burly men exited, carrying heavy duffle bags.

“We all set boss?”

“Yes Fritz, you and Adolph may set off the charges.”

“What happened to the one in the casino boss? I didn’t see no mushroom cloud.”

The rogue agent looked at his wristwatch. The bomb at the Remington should have detonated by now. “ _ Solo, you son of a bitch” _ He cursed in German. That UNCLE agent must have found the bomb and disarmed it.

He handed a remote device to his goon. “Go ahead Fritz, you many have the pleasure of setting off  _ diese bombe _ once we are far enough away.”

“ _ Danke Chief! _ ”

Adolph slipped into the driver seat and passenger side, starting up the engine while Altschuler climbed in the back of the van and closed the doors behind him.

“Not so fast! Illya stepped in front of the van, pointing his weapon directly at the windshield. “Shut it off now.”

Instead of complying the driver put it in drive and floored it, and in his own defense Illya shot at them as he tried dove to safety;  the van winged him as he tried to get out of the way.

Napoleon and Angelique did the same, firing into the rear of the van, but none of their efforts stopped it and the vehicle sped off into the dark desert.

Illya lay on the ground, nursing his shoulder while cursing to himself in Russian.

“My my what a potty mouth you have,”Angelique said as Napoleon knelt beside his partner, checking his injuries.

“Will you shut your mouth you silly cow!” Illya yelled at her through clenched teeth. “Napoleon never mind me, get after them!”

“Hey buddy, I’m taking care of you and besides,” he lowered his voice,” one of the rounds I shot into the rear of the van had a tracker embedded in it. They can be as far as five miles away and we’ll still get a signal.”

He helped Illya to his feet, after making sure there was nothing broken and turned to Angelique, abruptly pulling her white silk scarf from her shoulders.  “Hey that’s expensive!” She protested as she watched Solo make it into a sling for his partner.

“Best to keep your shoulder as immobile as possible chum.”

“Napoleon, though your ministrations are appreciated,please...let us get after Altschuler before we are blown up as well.”

_ “Bomb?”  _ Napoleon and Angelique blurted out. She and the Russian were so busy trading barbs, and distracting Solo that they’d forgotten about it.

The three of them piled into the sports car; Napoleon would have to take over driving duty, while Angelique would be forced to sit on the Russian’s lap.

“Don’t you get any ideas you Bolshevik boor,” she hissed at him.

“Do you really think you can get a  _ rise _ out of me? And I mean that exactly how I said it.”

“You only wish you could get a hard on.” Angelique crossed her arms in front of herself, obviously annoyed. She suddenly wagged a neatly manicured finger in front of his face.

“And if you ever call me a cow again, you will pay dearly Kuryakin.”

“To be precise I called you a silly cow and, and promises promises,” Illya jabbed back at her through clenched teeth.

“Knock it off you two! Napoleon called, but just as he grabbed the handle to open the car door, there was an immense blast behind them.

The warehouse went up in a glorious explosion; one that would have made Illya Kuryakin envious had he been able to view it but instead the force of the concussion sent him hurtling sideways along with Angelique. Napoleon, closest to it was thrown in the air over the hood of the car, landing face first on the ground.

It was some time later when the trio awoke.  

Angelique opened her eyes, realizing she was laying on top of the Russian, whose body had broken her fall. She watched as Kuryakin’s blue eyes slowly fluttered open, and somehow they were instantly drawn to her breasts...her cleavage being even more exposed from the position in which she was laying.

“Mmm,” Illya whispered,” they are actually nicer than I imagined. I suppose that is why, in part, my partner is so infatuated with you. Perhaps you might deem to show me more someday that I might validate my assumptions.”

_ “Sie Russisch Schwein! _ “ She swore at him in German, calling him a Russian pig. She moaned as she pushed herself up and away from him.

Illya laughed, but suddenly held his side, favoring it.

“I think cushioning your fall cost me a few broken ribs. Are you unhurt?”

“Yes, I am...ugh, thank you for asking,” she was taken aback by his concern, and offered Illya her hand to help him up.

They looked each other in the eyes for a moment, voicing the same thought… _ ”Napoleon!” _

They went off in search and found him in laying in the dirt, still unconscious.

“Napoleon darling,” the THRUSH temptress knelt beside him; using the hem of her once white dress to staunch the blood from a gash on his head.

“Wake up!” Illya tapped his partner on the face. A moment later a pair of hazel eyes were looking up at them, looking a bit dazed.

‘’What happened?” Solo mumbled. He was still disoriented.

“You do not remember? There was a device in the warehouse, though thankfully it was not a nuclear one. Are you all right my friend?”

After a brief accounting of body parts Napoleon nodded. “Other than a splitting headache I seem to be intact. You?”

“I may have cracked some ribs; Angelique however is fine,” Illya cast a quick glance her way.”  He let go a long sigh, looking at his watch.

“I am afraid we have most likely lost our target as we were knocked out at least fifteen to twenty minutes.  

The partners had developed a sign language all their own and Illya  leaned in close, signing with his fingers to Napoleon so Angelique would have nothing to hear.

 

_ “Even with tracker, they are out of range by now.” _

 

Napoleon signalled he understood. What else was there to say?”Maybe we can still pick up his trail. He probably thinks we’re dead. Maybe he’s headed back to Vegas?”

Angelique had no idea they were communicating with each other.

“I think we need to get back to the hotel and gather our thoughts while we bathe and change into more suitable clothing,” she said as she and Illya helped Napoleon to his feet.

“Hmm, a bath would be nice,” Solo smiled, flicking his eyebrows mischievously.

“Do you not ever just turn it off?” Illya demanded.

“NO!” Both Napoleon and Angelique answered at the same time.

The car was dented but intact as Napoleon eased himself into the driver’s seat. Illya moved gingerly, sitting in the passenger seat and Angelique carefully lowered herself onto his lap, without comment from either of them. Though the look of disdain on both their faces was more than obvious.

Solo started the engine, it was still running fine in spite of the abuse and they drove off into the desert. He pulled the tracking device from his pocket, checking it to the side just in case but as expected, there was no signal.

They headed off into the night returning to the Reminton; the only sound in the quiet of the desert was the purr of the car engine. Yet each of them stole a glance back as the remnants of the burning warehouse lit up the night sky with an ominous orange-red glow…


	5. Chapter 5

The silver Corvette pulled up in front of the Remington, with Napoleon stepping out of the battered car and handing the keys to the valet, not saying a word at first.

The freckle-faced young man stood there, staring at the condition of the car, not sure if he should say anything, and anticipating a comment Napoleon nonchalantly told him to see to it the car was washed and waxed. He passed the valet large tip.

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir. I’ll see it’s taken care of.”

And just to be facetious, Napoleon added,“Oh yes and have it vacuumed as well.”

The two men and the platinum blond walked into the building, getting plenty of stares from the doorman and other hotel personnel.

Both men were obviously the walking wounded…their tuxes were filthy and ruined, Angelique's dress was torn and bloodied.

“Hey, gambling at the Sands can get a little rough,” Napoleon quipped to the hotel staff, leaving them standing with their mouths hanging open in amazement.

The trio made their way up to their rooms;  Solo opting to head to the room he shared with his partner rather than joining Angelique.

“We’ll meet to discuss our next move after we clean up,” he said to her, giving her a little peck on the cheek.  Though not willing to admit it, she was sore from being thrown down from the bomb blast. The Russian breaking her fall was fortuitous, most likely preventing her from being injured.

Illya lowered himself into his bed with a sigh, holding off on taking a hot shower just yet. They needed to contact headquarters, and after that was done he’d see to bathing, wrapping his ribs and changing. Perhaps he could get a proper sling from the hotel doctor, allowing him to baby his shoulder for the time being.

“Napoleon?”

He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking rather tired, and picking at his ruined tuxedo jacket.

“Well at least this was from wardrobe so I won’t have to submit it on an expense report; for once it’ll be a writeoff.”

Illya tried slowly sitting up. “We have to report our blunders to Mr. Waverly and all you are concerned about is a ruined bit of clothing?”

Solo flashed him an annoyed look. “No I’m not...I’m thinking logistics. The money in the back of the van were at least a clue to where Altschuler is headed. A location here in the US, so presumably the nuke he tried using here was the first, Canada, England, France, Italy, Germany and Japan have all got to be his planned stops. The only question is where in those countries?”

“I do not like the fact that we are dependent upon Angelique for the locations of the most likely satraps. Why could she just not have supplied the information instead of gracing us with her insufferable presence? What if she decides to turn on us and takes Altschuler's side? If he succeeds, he could, in theory, take over the world; what better enticement for a deceptive creature like her; she could align herself with him as a matter of self preservation and most likely kill us in the process.”

“Are you done?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow at his partner’s rant.“Always the fatalist aren’t you my Soviet friend?.”

Napoleon stood, taking off what was left of his jacket and withdrawing his communicator from his pocket.

“And you my friend are too trusting of that woman. She could just as easily kill you in bed, like the bloodthirsty creature that she is.”

“Ah but therein lies the thrill partner mine. I know what she’s capable of, and she of me. I could just as easily kill her too you know.”

“You? Why do I doubt that my friend. You have the heart of the eternal optimist and would not harm a woman unless it was in self defense.”

Illya shook his head, realizing Napoleon was now ignoring him.

“Open Channel D-Waverly.”

“Yes Mr. Solo, what have you to report.”

“I’m sorry to say that we’ve lost Altschuler sir. We located him at a private gaming room where he was gambling to possibly fund his plans, and there apparently he recognized me. To make a long story short Mr. Kuryakin was able to disarm one of the nukes here in the hotel. Miss La Chien took us to a nearby satrap that was used to launder money for THRUSH there we again caught up with Altschuler.”

“And you let him get away a second time?” Waverly interrupted with terseness in his voice.

“It’s not like we let him sir. He had a van load of currency from seven different countries,giving us clues as to where he intends to plant his other nuclear devices. I was able to get a tracking device in the vehicle, but Altschuler planted a bomb in the warehouse and it exploded before we were able to pursue."

“A third time Mr. Solo?” Alexander Waverly harrumphed his displeasure. “How is that possible?”

“We were knocked unconscious by the blast and both Mr. Kuryakin and I were...ummm, slightly injured.”

“And Miss La Chien?”

“Is unharmed.”

“Do I need to send a replacement team Mr. Solo?”

“No sir, that won’t be necessary. We’re going to work with the clues that we have, and with Miss La Chien’s help we just might be able to catch up with him sir.”

There was a moment of silence. “A tracking device you say?”

“Yes sir, but I’m afraid it’s out of our range now.”

“Perhaps not Mr. Solo. There is a secret U.S. military installation there in Nevada and perhaps they may be able to pick up the signal and home in on the direction Mr. Altschuler is taking. I will contact our Americans friends to make arrangements, and will contact you when and if they get a hit. Out.”

Napoleon put his communicator on the nightstand beside his bed, wishing for a moment that he could curl up and go to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t possible. “A secret military base?” He asked himself, wondering what it was for, and how Waverly knew about it; then again that sly old fox knew a lot of secrets.

Illya remained wordless but finally eased himself from the bed, heading into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, setting the water to steaming hot and slowly stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

He stepped under the water, letting it run down his back; the heat felt wonderful on his shoulder. He hissed, trying not to jerk when the water pressure hit his tender ribs. Though he suspected they were broken, he hoped they weren’t, but there was no way to know for sure.

Stepping out of the shower; he wrapped a bath towel around his waist and stared into the mirror, examining the lovely bruising growing on his side and shoulder.  He tried lifting his left arm, but that was a mistake as he stifled a yelp as best he could.

“Illya? You okay in there?” Napoleon called.

“Fine, I am fine. I will be out in a minute then the shower is all yours I even left you hot water,” he tried joking.

As soon as the Russian stepped from the bathroom, Napoleon knew the man wasn’t all right.  The bruising and swelling on Illya’s body made for a stark contrast against his paler than usual skin.

“Hey maybe we should get the house doctor to look you over.”

“No, there is not enough time. Now stop being a mother hen...I will be fine. Take your shower and get changed. We need to get ready to move.”

Solo disappeared into the bathroom without further discussion, not seeing his partner pick up the telephone receiver.

“Yes this is Mr. Kellerman in Room 560. I need to get hold of a sling and several ace bandages, would it be possible to have them sent up to my room?”

“Not a problem sir. Were you injured on premises, as we would have to have the doctor look at you and fill out an accident report.”

“No not at all, it is just an old injury from a car accident that is acting up. I normally carry these items with me just in suitcase but forgot them for this trip.”

“Very well sir. We’ll send someone up with them right away. Could you use some liniment as well?”

“Yes, thank you that would do nicely. Good bye.”

“Bye Mr. Kellerman.”

Ten minutes later the items arrived. Illya answered the door after ensuring it was safe, dressed in a hotel bathrobe and quickly handed the bellhop a tip, thanking him but almost closing the door in his face.

Illya immediately went about applying the liniment to his injuries; it smelling of oil of wintergreen. There would be no hiding with him stinking of this stuff.  He carefully wrapped his ribs in the ace bandages and  omehow managed to get his black turtleneck over his head with a groan.  He finished dressing in this black suit, and was thankful he’d brought a pair of loafers with him as he didn’t have to bend to tie any shoelaces.

Napoleon emerged from the bathroom, instantly sticking his nose in the air and sniffing. ”What the hell is that smell?”

“Liniment for my shoulder. The hotel sent it up along with a sling.” He said nothing about the bandages for his ribs, opting to let his partner think they were okay.

“Well no undercover work for you chum, “Solo chuckled.

“No kidding.”

Napoleon dressed in his grey suit and just as he finished tying his shoelaces there was a knock at the door.

Illya stepped to the side, drawing his gun.

“Who is it?”

“Let me in you annoying man,” Angelique called.

He opened the door, looking her up and down as she stood there, dressed in a Chanel suit, pastel in color, and looking very Jackie Kennedy. The only divergence from that style was a black silk scarf tied around her throat and somehow, her hair was perfectly coiffed in spite of their ordeal in the desert.

She eased her way past the Russian without a second thought.

“Napoleon darling, I’m famished. Don’t we have time for room service...some oysters would be nice now wouldn’t they?” She purred.

“Sorry Angelique we don’t have time for any of that nonsense. We have a bad guy to catch,” he straightened his tie, then zipped his suitcase closed.

“Nonsense? How dare you. I’ve half a mind not to help you anymore Napoleon Solo.”

The American realized his faux pas, and recovered instantly.

“Not you, you could never be nonsense...I was talking about room service that’s all,” he leaned forwards, attempting to give her another peck on the cheek but Angelique quickly turned her head, letting him her kiss her on the lips.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him there until it became an embrace, one that Napoleon let himself fall into with ease.

“Enough!” Illya barked, sliding his good hand in between the two of them, breaking it up.”  

“I will say it then, since my partner has back pedaled so easily. We do not have time for this nonsense. Now Angelique what is your best guess as to where Altschuler might be headed?”

“Hmmm I’ve given it some thought, and the most likely satrap would be the one in Quebec, Montreal to be precise. It is the location of one of our most lucrative laboratories in the West.”

The bellhop arrived to pick up their bags, and the agents followed them downstairs, checking out at the main desk; somehow Napoleon and Illya’s room ended up being comped due to the attack outside the private gambling room.

“Accounting will be happy about that,”Illya mumbled but took it back as he listened as Napoleon paid for Angelique's suite. He said nothing, and simply gave his usual eye-roll.

The valet brought their rental car; Angelique had none as a THRUSH driver had delivered her to the Remington.

At Illya’s request, Napoleon got behind the wheel of their sedan, with Angelique sitting in the front beside him, while the Russian stretched out in the back seat, babying his shoulder, and his side.

“Napoleon. Please no wrong turns this time?” Illya called out to him.

“Aw come on, we’re only going to the airport?” Solo protested.

“My friend, I have seen you get lost going around a corner.”

“Now that is a bold-faced lie!”

“Might I remind you of Marseille?”

“I take it back.”

Angelique tried not to snicker. “You two sound ridiculous, like two school children in an endless argument.”

_ “V chuzhom glazu sorinku zametno, v svoyom. A pot calling kettle black _ ,” Illya quipped in Russian.

_ “Nyet rozy bez shipov. And there is no rose without a thorn _ ,” she shot back at him. _ “Tak ne khochetsya, a pridetsya. Nravitsya ili net, a pridetsya.” _

_ “If I do not like it I may lump it?” He repeated in English, somewhat surprised at her accent. _

Still, that shut him up, but not because of what she said, but because she said it in impeccable Russian. Finally, something Angelique La Chen had done impressed Illya Kuryakin.


	6. Chapter 6

McCarran International Airport was but a short distance from the the city, and after arriving at the ticket counter, Napoleon purchased their tickets for arrival at Chicago’s O’Hare and from there they’d catch a flight to Montréal–Dorval International Airport. They were getting ahead of themselves as they really weren’t positive Altschuler was heading there, but it was more of an educated guess.  

Solo crossed his fingers, hoping it would pay off.

Illya leaned on the counter, standing next to his partner while Angelique stood to one side, smoking a cigarette.

“You do realize that she could be leading us astray?How do we know for sure he is heading to Quebec? It could be any number of cities in Canada, and that is presuming your assumption about the cache of money is correct.”

By this point Napoleon’s patience was nearing an end; he was dog tired, hungry and the bickering between his partner and Angelique was becoming more than tedious.

“You have a better idea?” He snapped at the Russian.

Illya was taken aback by the American’s tone. “I was merely pointing out…”

“Well do me a favor, and stop pointing things out. I’m tired of your negative attitude and would appreciate a little more optimism from you just for once. You’re always convinced everything is going to go wrong and we’re going to die at every turn and frankly it gets a little grating after awhile. And you could lay off Angelique too, that’s definitely gone too far…”

The Russian pursed his lips, and turning away he walked off, pulling a packet of his Turkish blend cigarettes from his pocket. He stood next to the THRUSH agent momentarily, bumming a light from her burning cigarette. 

As soon as he took a long a drag on his cigarette, he coughed a little, since it had been a while since he’d smoked one.

“Here darling, try one of mine. They’re much milder than that Turkish garbage you smoke.”

Illya looked at her questioningly. 

“Oh my God, do you really think I would try something? It’s in my best interest too that we catch Willie Altshuyler.”

Kuryakin dropped his own cigarette, snuffing it out with his shoe and accepting the one offered by the woman.  She lit it with her silver lighter this time and waited as he took a drag, not coughing this time.

“See I told you, much milder.”

_ “Merci, _ ” he actually broke a small, crooked smile before walking away.

Napoleon finally walked over to where Angelique was standing, noting Illya was some distance away by the airport exit.

“So what is wrong with your dour Russian and you...lover’s quarrel?” She asked trying to sound more apathetic.

“Angelique I know you dislike him but please I need you to stop egging him on. We all need to concentrate on what we’re doing here as can’t afford making a mistake because we’re distracted. I need Illya calm and collected for this affair and your constant needling is not helping matters.”

She took one last drag on her cigarette before extinguishing it. “I’m sorry darling, I don’t dish out more than I think he can handle and if you have taken notice, he dishes out quite a bit himself, but I will try to curb my urges, just for you.” This time it was her turn to gently kiss him on the cheek.

“Do me a favor, wait here a minute,” he smiled. “I need to soothe the savage Soviet.”

Napoleon walked up beside his partner, holding out his ticket and boarding pass as an excuse to make conversation.

“We’re going to have a bit of a wait, so let’s get something to eat, maybe a couple of drinks to relax.”

“Fine,” Illya abruptly snatched his ticket and pass from his hand.

“Hey chum, I’m sorry for what I said to you. I didn’t really mean it...I’m tired and frankly worried about this whole affair. We screw up just once and who knows how many people will die if any of those bombs detonate.”

“I am concerned as well, and feel that weight upon my shoulders but must you take her side over me? That is disconcerting to say the least. I am your partner or am I second place to a bedmate now?”

“Low blow, but I deserve it. If it makes you feel any better I had a little talk with her about not needling you anymore.”

“Really?”

“Yes I did. Now can we go get some food before I drop?” Napoleon practically sighed. “Hey I’m surprised you’re not complaining about being hungry.”

“My friend, I am always hungry. I saw no point in repeating that fact ad nauseam,” Illya smiled as he flicked his cigarette, making it land perfectly in a nearby ashtray stand.

There was a small restaurant-bar in the airport and there they were seated and ordered their meals. Napoleon opted for something very American, a cheeseburger with french fries, and a slice of apple pie ala mode. Angelique was more delicate in her tastes, commenting about a girl having to watch her figure. Her meal of choice was a Caesar salad and a small bowl of minestrone soup.

Illya, with his usual ravenous appetite ordered a salad, soup, steak with mashed potatoes and for dessert, peach cobbler. When his entreé arrived, he suddenly realized he had a problem, as his left arm could barely be raised, much less his left hand to cut his steak.

Angelique seeing his dilemma, reached across the table and taking his plate, she cut the steak into manageable pieces without saying a word and when finished, she put his meal back in front of him.

The Russian looked at her with cocked eyebrows, waiting for some snide remark but when none appeared, he thanked her.

They ate for the most part in silence, with Angelique not even saying anything about the amount of food the Russian was inhaling, except for a polite comment.

“Illya, I wish I could eat as heartily as you but I would gain weight instantly. How is it you stay so thin, being able to eat as much as you do?”  Her comment and question were genuine and not delivered sarcastically at all.

“I have always had a such an appetite, though growing up Soviet; it often created a problem for me.”

“Oh that’s right in your country with the long lines for food, yes that must have been difficult. How did you manage without starving?”

“A soulful look, a little lie here and there about it being my birthday always seemed to get me free food and of course I was frugal with my money when I could be; that permitted me to eat at some local store front restaurants now and then where my lies came in handy for getting extra portions. Communal living, and cooking were a difficult living arrangement as I often arrived home too late and had to make do with scrapings from the bottom of the pot.”

“Darling that is terrible. Well I do hope U.N.C.L.E. is paying you enough to keep you well fed, not like your former employer,” she refrained herself. “T.H.R.U.S.H. does pay better, by the way.”

“Now now Angelique,” Napoleon chided, “No recruiting allowed and besides I think Illya…” His sentence remained unfinished as his communicator chirped, and picked up a nearby menu card; he ducked behind it as he answered the call.

“Solo here, give me a second to relocate sir.”

“Excuse me, he said to the others. He made a beeline to the men’s room making sure he was alone.

“Yes sir?” he answered the Old Man

”We’ve received a report from the U.S. Military installation in Nevada that your van has crossed the border into Utah. If Canada is indeed their destination, the journey by motor vehicle will take approximately thirty-seven hours. One would think travel by jet liner would be more expeditious, but if he is transporting the nuclear devices with him, a plane would be out of the question, unless it’s a private flight.”

“We have airports across the country being watched if that is indeed what he’s up to. We also have no idea if these devices are ready or still need to be constructed, however, that being said; our intelligence sources have informed me a sizable amount of nuclear material has gone missing from Her Majesty's Naval Base Clyde in Scotland, just outside of Glasgow. It occurred three weeks ago.”

“Hmmm,” Napoleon spoke softly.”It seems to be to our advantage then that Mr. Altschuler continues with his current mode of transportation, at least while he’s here in North America.”

“Yes that is a concern. Tracking him once he leaves the country will be problematic at best but I’m sure you’ll come up with a solution. In the meantime, stick with your plan of heading to Canada.”

“Yes sir, our flight doesn’t leave for another twelve hours, so if your military sources are still able to track him, then we’ll have a much better idea if he’s headed there or not and can change our plans accordingly.”

“Precisely, Waverly Out.”

Napoleon put away his communicator, mumbling to himself about hating when the Old Man simply cut off a conversation.

“Twelve hours?” Angelique burst out. “You didn’t say anything about having to wait that long for our flight. That is preposterous. What am I supposed to do, sleep on the floor of the airport. Napoleon Solo, sometimes you can be so...so American.”

He didn’t expect her outburst at the delay.

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that. I’m just so accustomed to traveling just with Illya and not a companion of the feminine persuasion. My partner and I are just used to sleeping wherever we can find a place to hang our hats, so to speak.” He shrugged sheepishly, knowing she was going to let him have it with both barrels, hopefully not literally.

Her face flushed red. “So I’m an afterthought am I...well we’ll see about that.”  Angelique turned her attention to a passing waiter.

“Excuse me sir, but it's there a hotel close to the airport?”

“Why yes ma’am, there’s the Starlight Motel just next door, has it’s own little casino. It’s pretty popular with people who’ve missed their flights or connections.”

“Is it clean?”

As far as I know ma’am, but I’ve never stayed there. Don’t know if you’ll get a room though as there’s a convention in town and a lot of places are booked solid.”

“Hmmmm, thank you.” Angelique rose from her chair, not waiting to be assisted.  

Napoleon threw down his napkin, rising and following after her.

Illya was not far behind though he was keeping his mouth shut on this one as it could prove to be amusing.

They walked to the motel, finding it surprisingly close, and wondered how they could have missed the glaring neon sign advertising it.

They approached the front desk, finding the lobby acceptable, but dated in its decor or perhaps Las Vegas tacky was the better description.  A little too much glitter and glitz, but as long as the rooms were suitable, that was all that mattered.

“Yes I would like two rooms,” Angelique said in a sultry but authoritative voice.

“Sorry lady, we have only one room left, and it’s a single. King sized bed though...he eyed her and the two UNCLE agents.

“I’ll take it,” she said, not hesitating. “Don’t worry Napoleon, you and your partner can sleep on the floor,” she smiled ruefully.”After all you two are accustomed to sleeping anywhere.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” the desk clerk looked at her strangely. “We have cots available. Room 102. That’ll be fifteen dollars please.”

“Highway robbery,”she huffed.” The two cots, there’s no extra charge for them is there?”

“Ugh, no ma’am there isn’t.”

This time the THRUSH agent paid for the room, signing the ledger Marilyn Monroe.  Napoleon followed suit by jotting down Cary Grant and for Illya, Steve McQueen. The clerk didn’t even blink twice upon reading the names.

“I will go get the bags from the car,” Illya tried not to smile.

“No I’ll go,”Solo offered. “You can’t carry the bags.”

“I will manage. Angelique, which one of your many valises will you need as I will not carry in all of them.”

She knew he wasn’t being mean spirited as she did have a lot of luggage with her, after all a girl had to be prepared for any circumstance.

“The red one will do, and oh yes the silver travel case with my makeup and toiletries...ummm, thank you.”

Illya nodded, disappearing out the motel door with a luggage cart as there was no bellhop.

“Soooo two cots?” Napoleon crooned, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She wriggled free of his grasp. “Oh no, I said you’d pay for making me an afterthought.”

Napoleon pulled her back into his arms, “You could never be an afterthought.” He kissed her, even though they were in the lobby, and while doing so, Solo held one hand out to the clerk who placed the room key in his hand.

They quickly disappeared to Room 102, ducking inside. The door opened a second time, only long enough for Napoleon to place a sock on the door knob.


	7. Chapter 7

Illya arrived with the suitcases only to be confronted by Napoleon’s signal not to enter.

He dumped Angelique’s bags on the floor, keeping his and Solo’s with him, only due to the fact there were UNCLE gadgets and such secreted inside them along with their clothing. There were other suitcases in the car, and those he simply left in the trunk.  

" _Chyort,_ ” he mumbled his favorite swear in Russian.

” _ Na vkus i tsvet tovarishchey net. O vkusakh ne sporyat.  _ He muttered in Russian, _ no accounting for taste. _ ” 

He walked down the hallway, continuing to bitch to to himself in his native language. 

Here he was again taking a back seat to Angelique La Chien, even after his partner’s apology. The man and his libido were simply incorrigible.

Illya simply surrendered as it was the easiest thing to do knowing Napoleon would most likely never change. He loved the man like a brother, and was more forgiving for that reason. Best of friends and siblings always did things to piss off each other, but they always forgave each other...eventually.  Right now he was in no mood to forgive.

“Bar?” He spoke curtly to the desk clerk.

“Down the hall to your left Mr. McQueen,” he smiled.

Illya flashed him an icy but puzzled look. “Mr. McQueen?” He shook his  head, not waiting for an answer and made straight for the hotel bar.

 

That was always his first choice when being locked out of their hotel room, then there was the lobby and if he really had to sleep, he could retreat to the car, if there was one.

Now he wanted booze.

He looked with disdain at the flashing yellow neon sign above the entrance to  _ ‘The Shooting Star Bar.’ _

“Oh joy.”  Well as long as they had cold vodka, he didn’t care what the place was called.

Illya sidled up to the dark wood bar and gingerly slipped onto on a stool, still cradling his arm in the sling; leaving his duffle and Napoleon’s small valise at his feet;  he signalled with a wave to the bartender.

“What’s your poison bud?”

“Poison?”It took him half a second to translate that.”  _ Oh _ , vodka, straight up with a shot of vodka on the side. Just make sure they are cold.” He didn’t even care what kind at the moment.

The bartender looked at him quizzically for a second, but finally figured out meant  keep the vodka flowing.

”You got it.”

“Do you have any pickles?” Illya asked, thinking of  _ zakuski; _ even though he’d just eaten dinner, snacks were just the thing to have with his vodka. He doubted this place had caviar or anything remotely Russian.

“Pickles? You a Russkie, Mac?”

“What of it?”

“Well the owner is Russian and he’s the only one I know who likes to munch on pickles while he drinks his vodka; he has caviar and a bunch of other things; snacks he calls them, but some of them could be a meal by themselves.”

“So you have pickles for me?” Illya posed his question again.

“I think the boss won’t mind if I scare up some for a fellow countryman.”

The bartender disappeared for a few minutes, not only returning with the pickles, but a bit of caviar, brown bread, spiced marinated mushrooms, a plate of  [ pirozhki ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pirozhki) as well as some deviled eggs.

This was completely unexpected.

“The boss sends these with his compliments,” the bartender smiled.

“And what is his name that I might thank him properly for this bounty?” 

A deep resonant voice spoke from behind him, answering in Russian.

_ “Nu kak ya zhivu i dyshu ...as I live and breathe, if it is not Illya Nickovich Kuryakin? I see you are injured as always. You still manage to get yourself hurt do you not?” _

For a second time Illya’s eyes went wide with surprise.

_ “Vadim Sergeivich Krasnov,” _ the UNCLE agent spoke without turning around. “You old Cossack, I thought you were dead.”

Vadim stepped forward, pulling Illya into a bear hug, mindful of the sling and kissing him on one cheek then the other in greeting. Still Kuryakin winced from the embrace.

_ “Nyet, I faked my death and made it over border to Finland, eventually coming here to land of free enterprise and home of brave. I heard you had defected tovarisch?” _

" _Not quite, I am still loyal to our home. I was sent as GRU representative to an independent intelligence agency responsible for maintaining political and legal order throughout the world. It is international in scope._ _My_ _allegiance now is to them. ”_

_ “Oh you speak of U.N.C.L.E.” _ Vadim laughed, sitting down on the stool beside Kuryakin.

Illya was not surprised he knew that, Vadim was alway one for knowing everything and had many sources when they were together in GRU. It was from him that Illya learned many things about keeping tabs on people. Vadim’s motto _ , ‘Derzhi svoikh druzey blizko , a vragov blizhe...keep your friends close but your enemies closer.’ _

Illya suddenly recalled Napoleon had said the same thing about Angelique.

“ _ So old friend, what brings you to Las Vegas?”  _ Vadim looked down at the suitcases.  _ “No I take that back; if you tell me you might have to kill me,” he snickered. “I take it since your bags are with you that you have not gotten a room yet?” _

_ “I do have a room per se, the last one your clerk told us.” _

_ “Us?” _

_ “Yes, a friend, but he is there involved in a pursuit of a more amorous nature, and I am locked out for now,”  _ Illya sighed.

The big  _ Moskvich _ laughed as he picked up his glass of vodka silently placed in front of him by his bartender. 

He finally switched to English. “Here is to women. We cannot live with them and cannot live without them.”

“That Vadim is debatable.  _ Naz dorov'ye.” _

_ “Theb.” _

“I left wife back in Moskva,” Vadim bowed his head.

“I remember, Praskoviya was her name,  _ da? _ ”

“But I got rid of her and married a pretty girl named Yelena. Oh boy was that  mistake! Not only did I marry her but I got her whole family as  bonus. They would always visit and constantly talk down about me because I was not there all the time they said, like a good husband. Little did they know my line of work!  So I left her, and Mother Russia too!” Vadim let out a belly laugh.

“Now I have a sexy Amerikanskii wife. Her name is Lola and she is dancer at Sand’s Casino...she is how they say va-va-voom.”

Illya wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that and simply nodded. Vadim always did like the ladies.

The two Russians raised their glasses, downing the vodka after which they each grabbed a pickle and bit down on them, sitting there laughing as they crunched away.  They continued drinking and eating until the bottle of vodka was nearly empty and the snacks were all eaten.

Illya checked the time on his wristwatch, realizing hours had passed and thought that was more than enough time for Napoleon and Angelique to have had themselves a grand time.

“Vadim, my friend it was good to see you but I must tell you  _ do svidaniya.  _ I have an early flight to catch in the morning, so I must rouse my friend and get to my cot.”

“Cot? What do you mean cot?”

“There was only a single with a king sized bed left for three of us and one is a woman, so she ordered two cots...it is a _ long story.’ _

_ “Nyet, Illyushenka. _ I am owner here. We have other rooms that are reserved for my special guests. You will have your own bed to sleep in tonight.”

“No Vadim, thank you but…”

“No buts, you get your own room. You do not want to insult me do you?”

“No my friend,  _ spasibo _ .”

“ _ Horosho _ . We must say farewell then. I will see to arrangements for you and then I am off to Reno; I will not be back until weekend. If you are here, I will see you then.”

“Sadly Vadim I have a flight in the morning.”

“Then it is truly goodbye my friend. Your room will be comped so do not argue with me.” 

Vadim rose, saying goodbye the same way he’d greeted Illya with a hug  and kisses on the cheeks.

The agent was shown to his room as a young bellboy brought in the bags and deposited them on the floor. There Illya quickly jotted down a note and handed it to him  Apparently this young man’s sole purpose was see to Vadim’s guests. 

He thought that odd that there were no bellhops for the other guests, but who was he to question Vadim’s business practices?

On the back of Kuryakin’s personal business card he told Napoleon where he was. He could have just called Solo on the communicator, or telephoned for that matter but he thought the bellhop’s visit would be a better form of coitus interruptus. 

Illya offered the boy a tip, but it was refused.

“No thank you. You are Mr. Krasnov’s special guest, and he said you are to spend no money while you are here. Those were his orders. Good night sir.”

Illya felt quite satisfied with himself as he collapsed onto the bed in a room of his own. It was definitely an upgrade from a cot as it had a fully stocked bar and mini refrigerator, color television and the bed had something called ‘magic fingers.’ Some sort of massage unit built into the frame, though he decided to forego the use of it. He would sleep well tonight, but then his ribs reminded him they were there.

“Perhaps this ‘magic fingers’ might help his aches and pains after all?”

.

Napoleon’s head popped up from where he’d nestled it between Angelique’s glorious breasts. He’d been kissing her when an unrecognized knock came at the door.

He pulled his gun from its holster, grabbing his pants and slipped into them before he answered; stepping to the side of the door and holding his Special at the ready.

Angelique pulled the bed sheets up around herself, covering her body, and holding her silver plated pistol out of sight.

“Who is it?” Solo called out.

“Hotel service Mr. Grant. I have a note from a Mr. McQueen instructing me to deliver it to you.”

Napoleon gave a quick peek through the peephole, confirming the boy was alone. He tucked his gun in his trousers behind his back and opened the door.

He looked at the card once it was handed to him, recognizing it as Illya’s business card and the Russian’s handwriting on the back. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, and handed the boy a tip before closing and locking the door. 

“What was that all about darling?” Angelique asked, tucking her gun under one of the pillows.

“Seems our Russian has gotten himself his own room,” Napoleon smiled.

“Well wasn’t that nice of him, “ she laughed, “giving us our privacy for the night again.”

“I don’t think that was his intention, but it is rather convenient. He quickly removed his trousers. “Hmmm, looks like things are looking  _ up _ ,” he joked, as he climbed back in the bed. “Now where were we my dear?”

Angelique threw back the covers, giving him his answer. Twenty minutes later they were relaxed in each other’s arms, when Napoleon disengaged himself from her warmth and rolled to one side of the large bed. He picked up the telephone receiver, dialing Illya’s room number.

The phone in Kuryakin’s room rang and he picked it up. He was just about to go to sleep, having stripped off his clothes and settled into his bed; being alone he felt no need for pajamas and was more comfortable sleeping in the nude. It was a rare opportunity to shed his clothes for sleeping. He maintained a bit more modesty when on missions with his partner, especially if they had to share a bed.

“Hello?” 

“And how did you manage this tovarisch?” Napoleon asked.

“Trade secret my friend. Consider yourself lucky I was able to get this accommodation as I was about to not forgive you for banning me from the room. We do need to have a talk about you and your… well a certain body part. One of these days it is either going to fall off from overuse or be cut off by a jealous lover.”

That made the American snicker. “So are you still mad at me?”

“At the moment no. I should just expect you to behave as such and not be annoyed when it happens. It is apparently my lot in life to be left to my own devices when you are with a woman.  Now get to sleep, we have an early flight to catch as you recall. Tell Angelique if she stays up screwing you all night then she will end up with dark circles under those lovely eyes of hers.

He didn’t realize she was listening in. “My eyes are beautiful? She called out.”That is the nicest thing you have ever said to me Russian.”

“I am hanging up now. Good night Napoleon.”

Several hours later the American’s communicator woke him out of a sound sleep.   
“Solo here,” he said groggily, looking at his watch. “This had better be good tovarisch, it’s three in the morning.”

“Yes I would consider it good Mr. Solo,” Waverly harrumphed. 

“Give me a moment sir. He retreated to the bathroom, turning on the  shower so as to prevent Angelique from listening in.

 

“Go ahead sir.”

“Altschuler has crossed into Colorado. If in the next six or so hours he arrives in Nebraska, the case for him heading to Canada is beginning to look stronger.  I will contact you should he enter Nebraska.”

“Yes sir, thank you,” Napoleon yawned. “Good night.”

“Yes...quite, and wish Miss La Chien a good night as well. Out.”

Napoleon returned to the king sized bed, snuggling up to his lover. “Mr. Waverly said to bid you a good night.”

“How did he know we were together?” Angelique asked, her eyes just peeking out from under the sheet.

“Trust me, I wonder that myself.” 

She reached over, running her fingers across his chest.

“Oh no,” he lifted her hand away.”We really have to get some sleep my dear.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she cooed.

“Good night Angelique…”


	8. Chapter 8

 

A wake up call was unnecessary for Kuryakin as his natural rhythms had his eyes open just when he needed to rise,  feeling well rested. Having slept well was due in part to not having had to share a bed with his partner, who was at times was a restless sleeper and tended to hog the blankets.

Though in all fairness,  Napoleon put up with a partner who had periodic nightmares. Illya would wake up sometimes with a gasp, in a cold sweat. Solo never asked what the dreams were about though Illya would sometimes offer up snippets from them, usually concerning his childhood

Still, Kuryakin was a very good liar and adept at dodging the truth, and Napoleon was well aware of it.

Thankfully Illya hadn’t had any of the bad dreams in quite a while. 

Accounting’s not so brilliant idea of cutting costs by booking single hotel accommodations for partners was possibly one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever heard of. There were times when he envied Mark Slate having April for a partner, as separate sleeping arrangements were mandated for them.  

He tried to envision Angelique La Chien in bed with him and his partner, mind you for sleeping only, but he decided that visual was not a good one. No doubt there was no need for covers when she and Solo were together in bed.

Illya wondered if Section II agents had problematic sleeping arrangements with their partners, and reminded himself to ask around once they’d returned from this assignment, that was if they returned.

He could hear Napoleon complaining now if he’d voiced that attitude in the American’s presence. His partner had already reamed into him for taking his usual fatalistic viewpoint; though Solo apologized, his words hit home. 

The Russian, unlike his American friend was always prepared to die for the Command at every turn, in fact he expected it to happen every time they embarked on a mission. Being prepared for it, and being afraid of it were two different things.  

Illya feared death, but at the same time embraced it. Facing one’s fears was all that could be done and since he’d looked death in the eye so many times throughout his life, his fear had become acceptance. If it happened it happened, if it did not, then it was a pleasant surprise.

Last night, sleeping comfortably alone really made a difference in how he felt this morning.  He had a better than usual attitude, feeling surprisingly optimistic about this assignment.  

Perhaps his shoulder not hurting him as much had a lot to do with it,  and as he took a deep breath, Illya found his side barely hurt at all. 

His hopes had come to fruition; no broken ribs and he quickly unwrapped the ace bandage and took another deep breath.

“Yes!” They could go for sure.

Kuryakin, hustled into the bathroom where he showered and shaved. He dressed himself, moving gingerly but comfortably now. 

His suit and black turtleneck went on effortlessly and just when he was going to call Napoleon, there was a knock at the door. 

As he was trained, he stepped to one side, holding his Special in his right hand, ready just in case. 

“Who is it?”

“Room service sir with breakfast.”

“I did not order room service.”

“Yes sir I know. It was ordered for you by Mr. Krasnov. He said it was for  _ his friend Illya. _ ”

He looked through the peephole to make sure there was only one person there before opening the door. 

A young man dressed in black pants and a white shirt wheeled in a cart, with several covered dishes on it. 

“Mr. Krasnov ordered a special breakfast for you sir.” One by one the covers were lifted revealing blini, sour cream, caviar, sour cream.. sausages, freshly baked black bread with butter, and jam, a plate of scrambled eggs and a pot of strong tea;  to the side sat a Russian style tea glass.

“It looks delicious. Thank you, and your name?” Illya asked.

“Kuzma sir.”

“That is a Russian name, but you sound American.”

“My parents were from the old country, they escaped to the United States after the war and moved here to Vegas.” The young man’s eyes suddenly saddened. “They were killed in a car accident and Uncle Vadim took me in when I was homeless, and gave me a job.”

“Uncle Vadim?”

“Oh he’s not my real Uncle, but we call him that. He’s taken in a few of us and got us off the streets and out of trouble.”

“Thank you Kuzma, that is good to know.” Illya offered the boy a tip and he too refused it.

“No sir, our Uncle takes good care of us. We’re his children now, that’s what he always says. Thank you sir and enjoy your meal. This is the same stuff Uncle Vadim has for breakfast on the weekends.”

Illya locked the door after the boy left, and checked his watch...he had time. Why let such good food go to waste? He tucked in, and helped himself, enjoying Vadim’s hospitality with relish.

A half-hour later there was a knock at the door,  instantly recognizable as Solo’s.

Illya let him in, and the American eyed the cart of food. 

“You ordered room service? Seriously, accounting isn’t going to be happy with that chum.’

“Do not worry yourself about it, as my meal was comped,” Illya smiled.

“Comped? And how did you manage that, along with this obviously upgraded room? You holding out on me tovarisch?” He waggled his finger over the remnants of his partner’s breakfast.

Kuryakin laughed, popping a last piece of sausage into his mouth. 

“I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”

“You’ve been reading up too much on U.S. law,” Napoleon laughed. 

He gave up getting the truth from his partner as once making up his mind on something; Illya would never give him a straight answer. Must be that Soviet training of his.

“Okay, be that way. Now let’s get going while Angelique and I have time to get a bite to eat as well.  I heard from the Old Man this morning; they’ve tracked Altschuler to Nebraska.”

“That is good, so next stop would be Iowa I believe, if he is enroute to Canada.” Illya gathered his suitcase and handing Napoleon his; they  headed out the door with his partner. 

I see by your change of clothing you went out to the car?” Illya said.

“Well since you only delivered Angelique’s I couldn’t exactly wear her chemise could I?”

Illya as usual, ignored him.

“Next stop is the coffee shop for breakfast,” Napoleon grinned. He grabbed his valise and Illya’s dufflebag, thinking the Russian might still be in some pain.

Angelique was waiting for them, already sipping a cup of coffee, and nibbling on a piece of danish. It would be her indulgence for breakfast, that along with a small bowl of fresh fruit.   


“I took the liberty of ordering a carafe of coffee, and for you Kuryakin a pot of tea. I discovered they have a fine Russian blend here, since the owner is Russian, a former Soviet military intelligence officer. Perhaps you know him Illya, his name is Kurasov?” She smiled knowingly.

“Hmm, does not ring a bell, You must remember that I was a junior agent when I left Soviet Union to join UNCLE and did not know many of my fellow operatives.”

Napoleon studied his partner’s face, suspecting this Kurasov had something to do with Illya getting the royal treatment here.

They sat at the table; Napoleon ordering an English muffin, with a side of bacon, orange juice and he had his coffee of course.  Illya drank his tea, and munched on a Danish.

“Illya are you feeling ill?” Angelique asked.”I think it is not like you to have such a light meal to start your day.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I am fine.”

“Yes it seems our Russian had a fine breakfast delivered to his room this morning,” Napoleon winked. “Hmm, methinks I smell a rat tovarisch, one named Kurasov.”

“Think what you will, it matters not to me,”Illya quipped, surreptitiously pulling the rug out from under the American, who figured he was going to get some mileage out of the situation.

Breakfast was finished and they headed out to the airport, where in a short while they would be winging their way to O’Hare in Chicago.

As they settled into their seats on board the plane, Angelique complained about the arrangements, being forced to sit between the two UNCLE agents.

“My God, coach? You make me fly coach Napoleon. Ridiculous. Had I know you’d booked these cheap seats, I would have gotten first class for myself.”

“May I remind you UNCLE has been flitting the bill for you all this time,” Solo whispered.

She crossed her arms in front of her, shaking her head in dissatisfaction until a stewardess passed by in the aisle, and she called to her.

“Excuse me Miss, are there any seats available in first class? I’d like to upgrade.”

“I’m so sorry,” the stewardess flashed a forced smile.” First class is booked solid. Might I offer you a magazine?”

“No. What I would like is some champagne, could you manage that darling? I’d really appreciate it.” Angelique softened her tone, knowing one would get more with honey than vinegar.

“I think I can do that for you,” the stewardess winked, “But it’ll have to wait until we’ve taken off and the Captain clears us for movement inside the cabin.

Take off was smooth and the stewardess came with the champagne as promised. Napoleon had a scotch on the rocks figuring it was five o’clock somewhere. Illya was quiet, preferring to close his eyes and doze off.

Solo behaved himself with Angelique present and refrained from flirting with the two stewardess, though he had to bite his tongue several times. One of them was beyond gorgeous and he actually thought about propositioning her to help him in his quest to join the ‘mile high club.’ 

Yet he resisted the urge; better not to try it with Angelique around...some women seemed to know when you’d had sex with another woman, and she was one of those with that special ability.  He needed to keep her happy as the mission had to remain preeminent in his mind.

It was just over three hours later their flight arrived at O’Hare, and together they deplaned, expecting to make their connection heading to Montreal. 

The flight was cancelled… 

The next one wouldn’t be available for another nine hours. There was no choice but to take it; time-wise they were cutting it close with Altschuler’s arrival. If he didn’t go to Canada, they’d be in trouble and would probably have to hop on a flight to wherever he was headed.  

Still Canada seemed the logical choice, given the clue with money he’d taken back in Vegas.

“This time we fly first class,”Angelique announced. “I’ll pay, or rather  _ my _ organization will pay. See Illya I told you we have much better wages and no accounting to bother us. Our agents have carte blanche.”

“So what are we going to do to kill nine hours?” Napoleon interrupted her little pitch for T.H.R.U.S.H.

“No no, wait. I have a question,” Illya posed to his partner. “Why is U.N.C.L.E. paying for Miss La Chien when she has this ‘carte blanche?”

“Good question partner mine. Angelique, going forward you take care of the expenses,” Solo made his command decision, thinking that was going to set her off, instead it had the opposite effect.

“Thank you, finally! I was getting tired of doing everything second class.”

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, not quite sure if they’d been insulted or not.

“Well since there’s little to do around here except shopping perhaps, that’s exactly what I plan to do. Now are you two going to join me?” She was positively glowing.

Illya deferred to his partner with a shrug, Napoleon did the same in response. “I guess that’s what we’re doing.”

After checking their luggage; they hailed a taxi, taking them to a nearby shopping district.

Angelique dragged the two agents through several boutiques, and dress shops, modeling a few outfits for them. She purchased several lovely dresses, a beautifully embroidered white silk scarf to replace the one used lost in the explosion back in Vegas, along with an exquisite white chiffon beaded tea length dress, also to replace the one that had been ruined.

As they followed her down the street, dutifully carrying her shopping bags she stopped in front of a jewelry store window. “Oh my, that piece is stunning! I must have it!” She pointed to a blue enamel diamond pendant watch with a starburst pin. 

“Oh yes, a stunning piece,” the sales clerk said, fetching the watch from the window display. “You have an excellent eye Madam. It has a 17 jewel movement with a lever escapement and a damaskeene finish. The dial is signed "Tiffany N. Y." and it is in superb condition. The dial is beautifully marked with classic gold filigree hands, fancy Arabic hour chapters and red 5-minute numerals. The case is fully covered royal blue enameling set against a swirl pattern, it is near mint and enhanced by a lovely diamond encrusted floral design on the back cover. Presented with this piece is a fabulous gold sunburst pin centered by a prominent cushion-cut diamond. It is 18K, circa 1890.”

Angelique held the watch in her hand, holding it up to her shoulder and looking at its reflection in a gilt mirror on the counter.

“I’ll take it,” she smiled.

“You don’t want to know the price Madam?” The clerk was a bit surprised.

“Only to pay the bill,” she smiled, taking out her wallet from her purse and handing him a Bankamericard. 

The clerk smiled, seeing the credit card as they’d just started accepting them as payment. Angelique signed the bill, got her receipt and the watch;  pinning it to her Chanel jacket, though she did glance at the receipt. It was less than she’d expected, and supposed the clerk gave her a good discount for not haggling.

“Yes that’s perfect. See I told you we’re well paid,” she boasted. “

Illya behaved himself as he’d promised, and simply watched as his partner took a turn at rolling his eyes. 

Lunch was in an upscale restaurant, and given the fact that T.H.R.U.S.H. was in essence, flitting the bill, both Napoleon and Illya ordered steaks  with all the trimmings, though both of them opted not to drink.

Angelique chose for oysters Rockefeller, a salad and insisted upon having pink champagne.

It was finally time to leave and the last thing they did when they arrived back at the airport was to purchase another small suitcase for Angelique to pack her latest clothing acquisitions. The bag was checked and just as they settled in their seats waiting to board their flight, Napoleon’s communicator called to him.

He quickly disappeared to a quiet corner of the waiting area, opening the pen and responding in hushed tones.

“Good evening Mr. Solo. Altschuler has been tracked to Illinois, so our supposition that he is heading to Canada is looking better and better.”

“We’re booked on a flight to Montreal and should be boarding any moment.”

“Quebec is a big province Mr. Solo. Where specifically is the satrap in Montreal?”

“That she wouldn’t tell me yet sir.”

Waverly sounded disappointed, yet he understood Angelique La Chien was a clever woman who knew how to manipulate men. He was aware of Solo’s dalliances with the temptress, and tolerated them, just as T.H.R.U.S.H. seemed to tolerate Angelique’s liaisons with Solo. It would either be a help or a hindrance to both of them someday, perhaps leading to their eventual deaths. He hoped now would not be that time.

Concerned her allure might cloud his agent’s thinking, he added a warning to their conversation.

“Report to me as soon as your flight lands, and Mr. Solo?”

“Yes sir?”

“Please be sure you think with the right head, if you get my drift?”

Napoleon was a bit surprised at Waverly’s crude remark, but the man was absolutely right.

“Yes sir, I will. Solo out.” 

He returned the communicator to his pocket and headed back in time to hear the first class seating was being called for boarding.


	9. Chapter 9

The agents had the privilege of pre-boarding since they were now traveling in first class. They sat down in their roomy, cushioned seats that had plenty of legroom, and immediately the private stewardess came around and took their drink and dinner orders.

“ Tonight we will be serving filet mignon, lobster tails and asparagus with hollandaise sauce or roasted chicken with Asiago polenta and truffled mushrooms. Both meals are accompanied by fresh salad, fruit, dinner rolls, and for dessert an assortment of petit fours.” She spoke in both French followed by  was heavily accented English..

“Now there is a proper accent,” Illya whispered, elbowing his partner in the side.

_ “Va donc pétaler dans les fleurs, _ ” Napoleon whispered back, careful not to let the stewardess hear.

“What?” Illya was stumped.”Pick petals...off flowers?”

“Aha! I finally got you!”

The Russian turned red-faced, not liking that a bit. “Your accent is still awful, whatever it was you just said.”

“It means  _ ‘buzz off’ _ buddy boy,” Solo laughed. “I’m tired of your comments about my accent. It’s called Québécois, and I learned my French from my French-Canadian grandmother, so just remember that, next time you insult my accent.”

“Oh so you are saying you do not speak proper French then?” Illya zinged one back to him.

“Better not take that attitude once we reach Montreal, otherwise you could be drawn and quartered.”

“Correct me if I am wrong then, are not French and English the official languages in the province of Quebec?”

“Well yes, but..”

“And the status of this Québécois?”

“Québécois French is the predominant variety of the French language in Canada...period.”

“Period?”

_ “Ouis.” _

“So if I speak standard French I will not be understood?”

“Of course you will.”

“Then case is closed,” Illya shrugged, taking the wind out of his partner’s bluster.

“ _ Baise-moué l’ail,”  _ Napoleon mumbled.

_ “Fuck my garlic?”  _ Illya whispered. “Seriously, it cannot mean that?”

“Well not exactly _ ” _ Solo tried to hide his chuckling, not telling his partner he’d just told him ‘kiss my arse.’ Looks like he got to do a little gloating after all as it wasn’t often he was able to get one over on the linguistically savvy Russian.

The banter ended and both U.N.C.L.E.  agents finally ordered the steak and tails, to be accompanied by a Cabernet Sauvignon, with fruity and ripe fine tannins to help cut through the heaviness of the butter.  Angelique opted for the chicken with a lovely Chardonnay though she passed on the dessert, opting to give hers to Kuryakin when dinner arrived. 

“You realize we are now benefitting by the ill-gotten gains of T.H.R.U.S.H.” Illya leaned over, whispering to his partner.

“Hey for once,  _ c’est la vie. _ Think of it as a little payback for all the meals they’re ruined on us, among other things.

Illya shrugged; that was a reasonable answer he supposed, for now.

The flight was comfortable and uneventful. Angelique was seated in front of the agents, leaving the two partners to chat by themselves in hushed tones. After the conversation was exhausted Illya went to sleep, as was his usual custom when flying. 

Napoleon, sitting on the aisle seat had to bite his tongue; his pastime of flirting shamelessly with the help wouldn't have been a wise move with the likes of Angelique being present.

She knew she didn’t have exclusive rights to the American, nor he to her, and there was always the remote possibility she would someday kill him, under orders of course. Napoleon was well aware the woman had a jealous streak in her and knew better than to allow such a dangerous passion to rear itself when it came to him. No, he didn’t want to have her try to kill him in a fit of jealous rage. No siree.

He followed Illya’s lead, deciding it was wise to catch up on his sleep; traveling with Angelique La Chien had its very nice advantages, but it also had the downside of lost sleep, even though he’d cavalierly told Illya sleep was highly over rated.

The partners woke to an announcement being made over the public address system.

_ Mesdames et Messieurs, nous arrivons dans quelques minutes à l'aéroport international de Montréal-Dorval. Nous vous demandons de vous préparer pour l'atterrissage. Veuillez redresser le dossier de votre fauteuil et ranger votre tablette. Nous avons été heureux de vous accueillir à bord aujourd'hui et nous espérons vous revoir prochainement sur nos lignes. _

She repeated the announcement in English. 

_ “Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be arriving at Montréal–Dorval International Airport very shortly. If I could ask you to return your trays and seats to an upright position, and prepare for landing. We'd like to thank you for flying with us today and we hope to see you again in the future.” _

_ “PNC, préparez vous pour l'atterrissage _ "_ _ flight crew prepare for landing.” _ The microphone was turned off with a click.

Cabin pressure began to change as they started their descent. As they approached the runway there was a slight bump and they were finally down. The forward thrust diminished as the pilot applied the brakes until the plane slowed to a stop. 

Another announcement was made by the pilot mentioning the weather, which was of no concern to the three agents, it was Spring and would be comfortable, that’s all they needed to know.

The plane taxied to a stop at its designated site; the door was opened and the stairs were rolled into place by the ground crew. One by one the passengers disembarked until only Napoleon, Illya and Angelique were the last ones left on board besides the crew.  

They deplaned with a simple nod of the head, but Illya could practically hear his partner bemoaning the fact that he was unable to get the telephone numbers of the luscious stewardesses on board.

They said their goodbyes in French. 

_ “Au revoir Monsieur Solo, Monsieur Kuryakin, Mademoiselle La Chien. Thank you for flying with us.”  _ She said her thanks in English..

The agents walked slowly down the stairs to the tarmac, carefully surveying their surroundings. The temperature was comfortable though becoming cool as the sun was setting and their was a slight breeze. The night air was refreshingly sweet and different from Las Vegas or Chicago; it seemed more crisp and pure. 

Again Illya retrieved their luggage from the carousel while Angelique had a smoke. Napoleon found himself a secluded spot and pulled his communicator.

“Open Channel D-Waverly.”

“Yes Mr. Solo. Have you arrived at Montreal?”

“We have sir, any further word on our target?”

“Yes, however I’m afraid to report that our second-guessing may not have been wise. The van has taken a bit of a detour to a small town named Crawfordsville in Indiana, and has stopped there. Please ask Miss La Chien if there’s a T.H.R.U.S.H. satrap of any significance at that location, as our intelligence shows nothing there at all.”

“I will sir. She’s not available at the moment,” he looked across the concourse, seeing her standing with Illya by the luggage. They seemed to be having a conversation and looked like they were actually getting along; at least Illya’s face seemed calmer; not like he was ready to kill the woman.

“Might it be possible that it’s just some sort of rest stop sir?”

“Anything is plausible at this point. They are not far over the border from their original route in Illinois. Get back to me with that information. Out.”

Napoleon returned his communicator to the safety of his jacket and headed towards Angelique. Illya had the enamel watch she’d purchased in his hand, and was examining it with his ever present jeweler’s loupe.

“I am afraid this is a fake,” he said to her. 

“No, that’s impossible. The Tiffany mark is there as plain as day.” She pointed to it with a neatly manicured finger.

“Yes but if you look at the karat mark of the metal the hallmark states 18K RGP...that means rolled gold plate, which is something Tiffany and Company did not deal with, nor did they use paste in their pieces.”

“Paste? You mean the diamonds aren’t real? I swear Kuryakin if you are lying to me I will…”

“You’ll what Angelique?” Napoleon interrupted.

“Nothing darling. She snatched the bauble from Illya’s hand, pinning it back on her suit jacket. 

So now what is the game plan” We are here, no doubt, well ahead of Altschuler...n’est ce pas?” 

Napoleon ignored her question, instead posing the one Waverly wanted answered. 

“Is there a satrap anywhere in the vicinity of Crawfordsville Indiana?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Please, yes or no?” He was a little short with her.

“Tsk, no there’s nothing in Indiana that we’re interested in.”

Napoleon took her at her word. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please you two, play nice?

“A promise is a promise,” she said.

“Yes, that is true,” the Russian agreed.

Willie Altschuler had taken turns driving with Fritz and his brother Adolf on their cross country trip. Periodically he would go in the back of the van, working on assembling his bombs, but not completely. His was a unique design, using C-4 at the catalyst that would help detonate these nuclear bombs. No conventional timers would be necessary, just a simple remote that would start the triggering process when the proper code was entered.

The bomb he’d used in Las Vegas with the traditional timer had been a mistake as obviously that bloody U.N.C.L.E. agent Solo must have disarmed it, thwarting his plans.

His was a time table to be followed but now to his disappointment, Altschuler would have to forego detonating a bomb in the United States for now, still, setting one off in Canada, T.H.R.U.S.H. would get the message and take him seriously as he’d chosen a very special and secret location.

Then of course the other bombs  would put the world on notice. Those were going to be difficult to set as every security agency would be on the lookout for him.  

Best he be out of Canada and on his way to England when the next bomb would be scheduled to go off. There in London, he’d set the next device and no one would be the wiser until it was too late.

He’d have to use a disguise after that, and a private plane instead of anything commercial. Next would be au revoir to gay Par-ee, then arrivederci Roma! 

The most difficult bomb to plant would be in Moscow. His plan was to blow Red Square and the Kremlin to smithereens.  And lastly he’d return to the United States, and the United Nations in New York City.

He would be the head of the council by the time all was said and done, even if he had to destroy half of  T.H.R.U.S.H. and the world to do it.  By doing so a dual purpose would be served as the rest of the world would fall to its knees after such international destruction.  He would succeed where T.H.R.U.S.H. had failed.

“The Council? Why would I need them? To hell with the T.H.R.U.S.H. Council. I will rule the world by myself.  Maybe I’ll let the former Council members beg me to be my underlings?”

Altshuler broke out into a fit of laughter. It would all be his for the taking when everything was said and done. He needed no one really...well except a few goons to do his dirty work.

“Hey boss,” Fritz hesitated as he listened to Altshuler’s exposition. The man really was a bit crazy, but a lot of powerful people were a bit nuts, weren’t they?” I think we gotta problem here.”

“I  _ don’t _ want to hear that.”

“Sorry, but the engine light is going on. I think we’re low on oil.”

“Low on oil...are you serious? Didn’t I tell you to have the engine checked before we left?”

“Yeah boss, but when you left the casino in a rush I didn’t get a chance to do it.”

He reached across, slapping Fritz on the arm as he vented his temper tantrum.

“Owww, come on boss. I can get it taken care of. We just need to find a service place. There’s a map in the glove box, maybe we can find a town with a garage…”

Willie slammed the glove box with his fist, making it pop open. He snatched the map and unfolded it and after studying it for several minutes using a flashlight he spied a likely place.

“We’ll head to a town called Crawfordsville in Indiana, it’s not that far out of our way.  Next time I tell you to do something Fritz, I expect you to obey me. If you want to remain a part of my regime then you better mind your p’s and q’s, am I understood?”

“Yes sir boss.”

“You better or I’ll have you replaced and your exit from my presence will not be a pleasant experience.”

“No boss. Don’t worry Mr. Altschuler, I won’t let you down.

A short while later they pulled into ‘Bud’s Service Center’ on the outskirts of town. Though it was late, the lights were on and the mechanic was apparently still working.

Altschuler and his man exited the van, approaching the interior of the garage.

“Pardon me?” He called to a man laying on a dolly beneath a Packard Clipper. 

“Just a sec, I’ll be right out,” he called.

The dolly skooted out, and the fellow sat up, but didn’t stand. A pimply-faced young man with his hair slicked back with way too much Brylcreem  held a rag in his hands, wiping the grime from them.  His blue coveralls were stained and dirty, signs of a hard worker no doubt.

“What can I do for ya?”

“The umm, engine light has come on in my van and I need it checked immediately. I suspect there might be problems with the oil as my...associate forgot to check it before we left Las Vegas. We’ve been driving straight through and need to get to Canada...we’re on a bit of a time table.

“Gosh you’ve come from Las Vegas, now there’s a place I’d love to see but momma says it’s a place filled with nothing but vice and sin, but to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind experiencing a bit of that just once in my life.”

“Yes yes, vice and sin isn’t it all a bit wonderful. Now that’s all well and good, but can you take a look at my vehicle now please, it’s rather important that we get back on the road.”

“I dunno Mister, I have to finish work on Mr. Letterman’s car as I sorta promised it’d be ready for him first thing in the morning.”

“Well whatever your rate is, I’ll double it. Does that help you make up your mind?”

“Umm yes sir it does,” the kid smiled, figuring he was going to make a good buck on this one. Mr. Letterman would understand.

The van was pulled into the garage and the mechanic went at it, while Altschuler and Fritz waited nearby. They’d been offered a seat in the waiting room and some hot coffee but they turned their noses up at it, looking at the dirt and grease everywhere.

Several hours later the van was finished, and it was backed out of the garage. 

“Okay, just give me a minute to write up your bill,” the young man smiled, stifling a yawn.

“You need some rest from the looks of it.” Altshuler commented.

“Aw Mister, I figure I’ll rest when I’m dead. Here’s your bill, and I tacked on a little extra for the rush job but I didn’t double my rate, that just wouldn’t be right.”

Altshuler barely glanced at the paper, instead he crumpled it into a ball and let it drop without a care on the floor.

“Pay him Fritz,” he said, turning away and walking out the door.

There was a single gunshot that pierced the air; Fritz appeared seconds later with a smile on his face.

“Let’s get going, we have a lot of time to make up, no thanks to you,” Altshuler calmly said.

“Yes sir, sorry boss. Won’t happen again.” 

“It better not.”

Napoleon disappeared again in the airport, and once at a safe distance from prying eyes and ears, he opened his communicator, contacting headquarters again.

“Yes Mr. Solo and what did Miss La Chien have to say?”

“T.H.R.U.S.H. has no vested interests in Indiana.”

“Hmm, that is most perplexing. It seems the vehicle has been there well over two hours.”

“Let’s hope it’s just a rest stop sir and they haven’t switch their mode of transportation.”

“Yes, quite. In the meantime, get yourselves to the satrap there in Montreal. I’m sure the three of you can come up with some sort of viable plan to trap Mr. Altshuyler should he indeed arrive there.” 

“And if he doesn’t sir?” 

“Then we will cross that proverbial bridge when we come to it. Out.”

Alexander Waverly put down his microphone, then hesitated, instead flipping another switch on his console.

“Yes sir? Answered the voice of a young man, still strong with enthusiasm.

“Inform me as soon as that vehicle in Indiana is on the move again.”

“Yes Mr. Waverly sir.”


	10. Chapter 10

Napoleon walked back, rejoining his partner and Angelique as they were still engaged in conversation. He was surprised to hear them discussing Montreal as apparently Illya had never been here, but Miss La Chien, not surprisingly, was very familiar with the area.

“Oh darling, there is a simply marvelous Chinatown located on La Gauchetière,  Saint Urbain Street and Saint Lawrence Boulevard ( _ boul. Saint-Laurent _ ), between René Lévesque Boulevard and Viger Avenue,  a significant part of Chinatown extended west to Jeannes-Mance Street, occupying roughly the area of a city block. 

“ I was just telling your partner about the Chinatown here. I do hope we’ll have time to stop as the food is simply divine and given his larger than usual appetite, it might be in our best interests to feed the beast. There’s a wonderful Cantonese restaurant on Rue Saint-Lambert, hmm what is that name now…?” Angelique tapped her temple with her forefinger as she thought.

“Angelique, this isn’t a pleasure excursion. We need to get to the satrap ahead of Altshuler,” Solo chided her.

“Well if you think I’m going there without first freshening up from our trip, then you are sadly mistaken. A girl must look her best, regardless of the situation. If on the off chance I die, then I’m going to be looking good.”

Illya watched as his partner’s blood pressure was surely rising, thinking it was about time she finally got to him.

“Fine. We’ll get a hotel room so your majesty can have her bath and beauty.”

“Excuse me? Napoleon dearest, take that tone with me again and you will not only lose certain privileges; I just might not tell you where that satrap is. I could handle this job by myself you know, and T.H.R.U.S.H. would have control of certain nuclear supplies to boot.”

Kuryakin had bit his tongue long enough and suddenly erupted with a finger wagging at Solo. “I warned you she might betray us. We never should have trusted her.”

“Warned? You _ warned _ him about me you paranoid little…. _ Russian, _ ” Angelique hissed.

The two looked as if they were ready to charge each other if Napoleon hadn’t acted quickly and stepped in between them.

“And you!” They both barked at him.

_ “Moi _ ?” Solo gave them an innocent puppy dog look. “Hey aren’t we forgetting we’re trying to stop a madman from blowing up the world and driving what’s left of it into a nuclear winter?”

That essentially threw a wet towel on the heated argument and both of them backed off.

Napoleon went to a nearby courtesy desk, smiling at the lovely uniformed girl behind the counter, speaking Québécois to her, and sounding like a native speaker to boot. He sighed to himself as it was nice not to have comments made about his accent.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle, my friends and I need a nearby hotel, reasonably priced. Could you recommend one?”

“Certainement Monsieur,” she smiled, pulling out a map and pointing out L’hotel du Chevalier on St. Lawrence Street.”

“Excellente ma cher. Merci.”  He smiled at her and felt something slipped into his hand; a piece of paper with her telephone number scribbled on it. 

He tucked it into his pocket with a sigh, not that he could do anything about it.

“Are you from Quebec Monsieur?”

“Non, Je suis Americain. I’m from New York.”

“Oh, your accent is excellent,”she smiled at him again. “Why don’t you give me a call when you’re free. You can tell me about New York...oui?

“Oui,” he smiled. leaning forward, he took her hand and lightly kissed it.  _ “Au devoir Mademoiselle.”   _

“Therese, Therese Marie St. Claire.”

“I will remember that,” he winked at her before he turned away.

Angelique and Illya met up with him and followed to the taxi stand where Solo hailed a cab for them.

_ “L’hotel du Chevalier, et rapidement s'il vous plaît?” _ Napoleon slipped the driver a few dollars as an extra incentive.

_ “Tout suite Monsieur_right away sir _ ,” he replied. 

Napoleon and Angelique were booked into a room with double beds; Napoleon’s argument being that they weren’t going to stay. They needed to get to the satrap, but Angelique needed to be placated as well.  

Illya was again booked into a room by himself, which was really fine by him.

Solo’s infatuation with her was slowly fading, though he was sure if she came onto him,he’d still take her up on her offer.  Regardless of her affiliation with THRUSH, she was incredible in bed and she knew that he knew it, along with which of his buttons to push to launch his libido into action.

He wondered if Illya were right, as he always said a woman would be the death of him. Would that woman be Angelique Le Chien?

She gathered a small valise and disappeared into the bathroom, but minutes later she stuck her head back out the door, letting the two agents she she was barely wrapped in a towel.

“Napoleon dearest, care to...ummmm, wash my back, and talk about the satrap,” she batted her eyes like a schoolgirl and burst into laughter as she saw the Russian roll his eyes; that never got old to her.

The American loosened his tie, “Well since you asked?” He followed her inside, slamming the door closed behind himself.

Illya was livid. His partner could find time to fuck the bitch...  yet they had to get to that satrap. He reminded himself Angelique could only tell them where it was. A catch 22, with he and Solo caught in her little game of control.

He let go his annoyance, making up his mind that if they had time for sex, then he had time for food.  He decided to order some Chinese and called the front desk for a recommendation.

“Monsieur, we can order for you and have it delivered by room service. That would suit you, _ n’est ce pas?” _

“Oui, that would be perfect. I would like Peking Duck, fried dumplings, chow mein and wonton soup...all for four please. Have it billed and delivered Mr. Solo’s room.”

The food arrived much sooner than Illya anticipated, all the better as by the time Napoleon and Angelique came out of the bathroom, everything had been laid out.

“What the devil?” She blurted out.”Didn’t you get the hint to leave Kuryakin!”

He ignored her and continued to dish out the food to his plate.

“I ordered enough for all of us but if you do not care to eat?”

Napoleon was annoyed at first, as he expected to be climbing into bed with his paramour and make passionate love to her again, but the food really smelled good.

“Well it is ready to eat,” Napoleon shrugged, looking at her.

She turned up her nose and spun around, still wrapped in her towel and headed back into the bathroom.

“So I see you ordered enough to feed Cox’s army, tovarisch.”

“Who’s army?” Illya asked, as he speared a piece of duck.

“Not important,” Napoleon chuckled,” now hand me the chowmein please.

The partners tucked into their food, ignoring the fact that Angelique had banned herself to the bathroom in a snit.

She finally emerged, fully clothed with her hair and makeup done to a tee.

“Feel better?” Napoleon asked.

“Darling, if I’m going to eat, no matter where I am, I will look my best. The duck smells delicious, and I’m starved. Napoleon dearest you gave me quite an appetite. It seemed her anger had now been overcome by her appetite.

“Help yourself,” Illya handed her a plate and utensils.

She suddenly looked demure,”Ummm, thank you.”

At last, Napoleon smiled to himself; civil behavior with the two of them.

After they finished eating Napoleon and Illya disappeared to the Russian’s room.

“So during your latest assignation with Angelique did she tell you anything useful about the satrap?”

“She confirmed it’s in Quebec province but she wouldn’t tell me exactly  where. She’s going to lead us there.”

Illya rolled his eyes with a groan. “So why are we here really? Napoleon I think she is playing us for fools.”

'You know one of these days your eyes are going to get stuck like that."

"Napoleon!"

"Tovarisch right now we have no choice but to be at her mercy. This is only the second of the seven bombs, so we still have a long ways to go to trust her.”

“You are being controlled by her like a puppet on strings my friend,” Illya said.” And I am following you like, like...a subservient lackey.”

“Gee, don’t mince any words will you?” Napoleon sat on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs and his hands over his knee. “I know what she’s up to and she getting her jollies manipulating the two of us, but she does know this is serious business, of that I’m positive.”

“More of your pillow talk I presume? “ Illya was a little snarky with that remark.

“Will you knock it off. Granted I enjoy screwing her brains out but it’s getting old being played by her. She’s let a few clues slip during our love making sessions, but I think I’m going to go have a talk with her and lay my cards on the table.  No more of her games.”  She doesn’t know we have the tracker on little Willie boy, so that’s to our advantage.”

Napoleon’s communicator began to chirp.

“Solo here.”

It was Waverly. “Altshuler is on the move. He’s on I-69 at present, a thoroughfare the will take him to the Canadian border, if Miss La Chien has been honest with her intelligence? Has she given you the exact location of the satrap?”

“No sir not quite yet.”

“Dammit man, you get that information from her. No more games and ahem….other things. She must be convinced of the seriousness of this situation. There’s no more taking sides, no UNCLE no THRUSH. It’s just us against this lunatic Altshuler!”

Napoleon had never quite heard Mr. Waverly this angry. The man never lost his cool under pressure.

“Yes sir I was just about to speak to Miss La Chien and put our cards on the table, telling her it’s time to put up or shut up.”

“Well you have roughly sixteen hours to convince her otherwise as that’s how long it will take Altshuler to get to Quebec City.”

“Yes sir.”

“NO more dilly dallying! Out.”

“Hmm, he is quite perturbed is he not?” Illya asked.

“That is an understatement if ever I heard one tovarisch.” Napoleon rose from the bed. “Wish me luck.”

“In truth my friend, you do not need it. The Solo luck has never failed you.”

Napoleon sighed.” There’s always a first…”

He walked across the hall, and entered without knocking. It was his room as well, after all.

“Darling I was getting lonely?” 

Room service had come and gone, taking away the remnants of their meal and apparently had brought a bottle of champagne. Angelique was drinking a glass of it, while lounging on the sofa.  

She’d positioned herself in a provocative manner, showing plenty of cleavage, as well as her legs through a slit in her dress. 

“You know there’s nothing I haven’t seen already,” he said. Pouring himself a glass of bubbly, he sat in a chair opposite her, keeping her at bay and out of striking distance.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means no more games Angelique. I need you to understand the seriousness of all this. No more manipulating, no more power plays. We, and I stress that word, have to stop this nut job now. It has to end here. We can’t take the risk one of his bombs going off.”

“Well really that goes without saying.” She put down her glass and sat up, smoothing out her dress.

“Angelique, please?”

“Oh darling don’t let your feathers get so ruffled.” She clicked her tongue.” You can’t blame a girl for having a little fun can you?”

“Fun time is over sweetheart. It’s time to pay the piper. Where is the satrap?   


“Come sit with me darling?” She patted the sofa cushion beside her.

“No, though it cuts me to the quick to say that, but it’s time to give up the truth. Do you know the location of the satrap or not?”

“All right, I surrender. It was inevitable but I didn’t think I would be this soon...I thought you had more stamina, darling.”

“Angelique, you have no idea how much stamina I’m capable of having, now the location of the satrap please?  Altshuler is on the move.”

“How do you know that?”

_ “Angelique?” _


	11. Chapter 11

“Belleterre, in the northwestern part of the province,” Angelique announced.

Napoleon wasn’t happy. “You’re kidding me! That’s eleven hours from here and if Altschuler is going there from Illinois; that’s…   
  
“Approximately 14 hours from his present location,” Illya said. He’d walked in without either of them having heard him enter. 

“Given it will take us 11 hours to get from here to Bellterre, that gives us a small window of time to arrive ahead of Altshuler.’   


“How do you know this?” Angelique demanded.

_ “Spy, _ remember?”

The woman was clearly annoyed. “Were you eavesdropping on us while we were in bed, you perverted son of a bitch!”

_ “ _ Wait, you are the one whose name means ‘the dog’, and since you are a female, then let the shoe fit. Angelique I say this with the deepest sincerity.  _ Pashol w zhopy!” _ That was close enough to telling her to go to hell. 

“But then I do not expect you to understand Russian, or a great many other languages so  _ perhaps you will understand this better...Va te faire enculer!”   _ He coldly told, ‘fuck you’ in French.

“Knock it off you two! Angelique I knew he’d bugged me and I let him do it. That’s immaterial at this point. We need to head to Belleterre and get ready for a preemptive strike,” Napoleon snarled.

They left the hotel; all three of them in a snit now but at least in Napoleon’s mind there actually was light visible at the end of the tunnel. At least that’s what he hoped. Altshuler had to be stopped. Las Vegas was near disaster, and another bomb couldn’t be allowed to detonate. 

Willie Altshuler was clearly a madman in Solo’s eyes, capable of anything. Millions could die if he succeeded with just part of his plan, and the world would be bathed in a haze of radiation, affecting generations to come. 

He drove, keeping his thoughts to himself, with Angelique sitting silently in the passenger seat beside him. Illya remained stiff-lipped in the back with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Napoleon sighed; it was going to be a long ride.

Halfway there it was time for a pit stop, if just for a bathroom break and to get gasoline.

“What no food?” Angelique whined.” She looked longingly at the small family restaurant beside the fuel station.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were Illya,” Napoleon snickered while he gassed up the car.

“Please, that I think is even a worse insult than what your partner made to me at the hotel.”

“As I said, if the shoe fits,”Illya appeared as usual out of nowhere. “I come bearing gifts.”

He tossed a paper sack to them, and held out a tray with containers of black coffee.   
  
“ _ Tourtiere,” he said. Meat pies, _ if you are not familiar with them Angelique.”

Her demeanor softened, “Thank you. I’m familiar with meat pies but not from here.”

“They are quite good.” Illya said.

“Ate one already tovarisch?” Napoleon chuckled.

“But of course, now we best get going. It will be after dark when we arrive. I also purchased some flashlights for us as well.”

Holding his second meat pie wrapped in a paper napkin, Illya munched on it as he got behind the wheel; Solo was now in the front passenger seat while Angelique stretched out in the the back after she’d finished eating and drinking her coffee.

“You were right, that was quite delicious, however it didn’t taste like beef. What was it?” She asked.

“I believe it was venison, and nicely spiced.”

“Oh really?” She acted nonchalant about it, though she was surprised at how good it was. She was accustomed to filet mignon; more delicate and sophisticated meals and not something a huntsman would eat.  

Angelique wondered if there were any gourmet restaurants she frequented who might be willing to offer it on their menus; it could become the newest trend.

Alexander Waverly had been in contact with his agents, giving them updates on Altshuler’s location.  The former Thrushman was making excellent time and would be at the satrap sooner than the agents anticipated.

Still they finally arrived within a window of time to spare in the small  [ _ ville _ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ville) of Belleterre   in northwestern Quebec.

The village had been founded back in 1930 when a prospector named William Logan discovered  [ gold ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gold) near Mud Lake. It led to the establishment of the Belleterre Gold Mines Company five years later and the formation of the community at nearby Sables Lake to house the miners and their families.

In 1957 the once incorporated town faded into obscurity as the mine became depleted and closed down. There were less than four hundred residents occupying the housing there where once there were thousands of people.

Perfect for a satrap. It was in a remote location, with few to witness any goings on by T.H.R.U.S.H.

They drove through the sleepy little village, seeing most of the simple cabin style homes dark, with only a few with lights still burning.

Though it wasn’t that late, people around here most likely went to bed early and rose early as well. There was no time or necessity to research the way of life here, though Kuryakin would have much preferred knowing the territory into which they had just ventured.

They followed a rough, little traveled dirt road leading out of town to a small hill cleared of trees, atop it was what looked like an old guard shack illuminated by a single spotlight.

Not far off were the dilapidated remnants that must have once been buildings used by the miners.  Now they lay collapsed onto themselves; stacks of dry ramshackle rotting lumber being reclaimed by nature as weeds and young trees snaked their way through them and skywards.

In the headlights there were several sets of eyes staring out at them from a line of trees not far behind the shack.

“Deer,”Illya said, and a rabbit. Deer’s eyes glow a near orange, while a rabbit’s are red, and unless I am mistaken that is an owl up in that tree,”he pointed to it,” as you can tell by the size of the large yellow eyes.”

“Must you always be such a know it all Kuryakin?” Angelique said.

At this point he was willing to simply shrugging off her comments as he was tiring of them and there was nothing he could to to get her to cease her yammering, short of gagging her and that he knew his partner would not tolerated.

_ “Napoleon _ will you please open the trunk for me. I need to change my clothes to something a little more suitable for the terrain.”

“You could have done that when we made our last stop,” he answered.

“What and have my clothing wrinkle? Oh no! I told you if I am going to die, then I will do so looking good. Surely you can understand this with your penchant for clothing, n’est ce pas?”

Solo shrugged to his partner. ‘What can I say?”

Illya’s response was to again roll his eyes for the umtheenth time.

“No no peeking Kuryakin,” she warned,” Though you dear Napoleon can ogle all you want.”

“Perish the thought and turn to stone?” Illya quipped. He turned his back to her, leaning against the car while she changed.

“Tovarisch, that Medusa remark really was uncalled for you know. Please for the sake of the mission will you just call a truce. She’ll be out of our hair once we get Altshuler and his little packages.”

_ “Our _ hair? You will be divesting yourself of her company like that?” Illya snapped his fingers.

“I know you don’t want to believe it but yes. I’m growing a bit tired of being use…’

‘’So what do you think?” Angelique suddenly appeared, dressed in a very form fitting pair of khaki pants and matching top. Around her throat was a colorful Hermès silk scarf, the ends of which drifted down just enough to point right to her exposed cleavage. Most importantly she wore a pair of sturdy hiking boots.

“Keep reminding me of that will you?” Illya elbowed his partner.

“Ahem, yes. Why Angelique, even when roughing it you look stunning,” Napoleon said.

“Why thank you darling,” she smiled and reached into her purse, pulling out a small silver pistol. That, she tucked into the waist of her pants.

“Are we all ready then?” Illya handed them their flashlights.

“No time like the present,” Solo gestured for Angelique to lead the way.

“The entrance is that shack up there, nothing complicated at all. Not even a surveillance system as it’s so remote.”

After moving the car and hiding it among the trees, Illya joined them as they 

They stepped into the shack and after they closed the door, Angelique flicked a wall switch.  

The walls began to move as they quickly discovered it as an elevator.”

“How far down does this go?” Illya asked.

“Approximately 300 feet. This is part of the old mine system, shored up of course with concrete and steel so it’s quite safe and secure. THRUSH was quite efficient in constructing this place.”

“What’s the purpose of this satrap?” Napoleon asked.

“Oh you’ll see soon enough darling, and by the way... _ sorry.” _

The elevator door opened and there they were met with a dozen armed Thrushmen in their green jumpsuits and black berets aiming their rifles at the two U.N.C.L.E. agents.

Illya and Napoleon didn’t even bother looking at Angelique as they raised their hands, clasping them on top of their heads.  They’d been captured enough times to know the drill.

Solo could just imagine his partner chiding him with an,

_ ‘I told you so.’ _

“This way,” the head goon ordered. They were led to a small room where they were very thoroughly searched.

The agents had not only been disarmed of their weapons, but their lockpicks, wristwatches, their shirt buttons, cufflinks, tie bars, money clips and everything else on their person, obvious and hidden. Apparently the guards here had been well informed about UNCLE paraphernalia.

They were taken to lockdown and were thrown in separate cells opposite each other; escape proof, or so they were told. As soon as the guards left both men went about searching their sparse accommodations for anything that could aid them in escaping.

“I got nothing,” Napoleon called out.

“Me either. However there are eyes on. Check in the back upper corners of your cell.”

Sure enough, there was a tiny camera lense peeking through a hole in the plaster half the size of a dime

Both men leaned up against the bars of their cells, reaching out with their hands; their fingers began to move with lightning speed.

Some time ago they’d devised a sort of sign language similar to that used by deaf people, though Napoleon and Illya’s version was slightly different. That made it impossible to translate as they were the only ones who knew it.

_ “Don’t tell me. Told you so,” _ Napoleon signed.

_ “Was not.You think this the dog’s plan was from start?’ _

_ “Not sure. Seemed genuine. Maybe her orders changed.” _

_ “Altshuler real?” _

_ “Not sure,” Napoleon answered. _

A guard appeared and they agents quickly pulled their hands out of sight.

“All right blondie, you’re coming with us.”

They opened up the cell, jabbing Kuryakin with a cattle prod. He squelched his reaction the first time but the second jab elicited a yelp from him.”

“Keep moving.” The jabbed him a third time.

Illya suddenly spun into a roundhouse kick and connected with the rear guard’s midsection.The man went flying. Just as Kuryakin recovered and turned, the second guard hit him with the cattle prod, this time holding it on the agent.

The jolt of electricity was enough to send Illya screaming to the floor, jerking and spasming in response to it.

  
When the guard he’d hit rose, he gestured for it to be stopped and kicked the Russian in the side for good measure. The two men picked up Kuryakin between them and dragged him off.


	12. Chapter 12

Napoleon paced his cell; he couldn’t help it as he could hear his partner’s muffled screams from somewhere off in the distance.

There was absolutely nothing he could do to help Kuryakin and that tore at his insides.

In an interrogation room Illya was trussed up by his wrists, dangling from a hook in the ceiling.

“Tell us ze UNCLE codes Solo,” the inquisitor demanded of the blond. Somehow he’d been mistaken for Napoleon.

He spoke in a heavily accented English, almost comical French.

Illya focused on the man’s face, noting it was pinched and rather hawkish. THRUSH seemed to attract people with similar facial characteristics. He reminded himself to do a study on this fact once he was out of this mess.

Those thoughts helped him through the session as he would picture the man with different color eyes or a lighter hair color. At one point Illya cackled as he envisioned the man with carrot colored hair, large freckles, and a wide gap between his front teeth. 

Of course it was Kuryakin’s way to egg on his captors; it was a habit that went as far back as his days as a child in the orphanage in Moskva.

“Is that the best you can do..dooo, _ Howdy Doody? _ ” Illya laughed again before an uncontrollable cough took him.

“Howdy Doody? What is zis you call me Solo?”

“I call you a puppet. You are nothing but that and THRUSH is the puppeteer!”

Howdy Doody shrieked and jabbed the prisoner again and again with the cattle prod, ripping Illya’s now bloody and torn white shirt from him a bit at a time.

“Give me ze codes and I will stop. Zer will be no more pain.”

“Nooooo,” Illya moaned. “Code you should be worrying about is the one Willie Altschuler has.  _ He is coming _ and you will die if he is not stopped.”

After saying that Kuryakin passed out.

Napoleon finally sat down on his bunk, holding his head in his hands, trying to hide his emotions each time Illya screamed.

“Why the hell had Angelique done this? There was always a chance of betrayal when dealing with her any time. THRUSH and UNCLE both had tolerated their liaisons without putting any specific demands upon them.

There was always misinformation and lies that were let slip, just for show between he and Angelique. They’d bugged each other, found the bugs and that was that.

But now for her to betray him, when he was so sure she was on the side of good. How could she do this? Why now? Did she want Altschuler to succeed? Was she ensuring herself a position in his new world order? Was the threat from the supposed rogue Thrushman real or just a ruse?”

There was a noise outside his grey cell and he watched as the guards returned, dragging Kuryakin between them.

_ “Illya!”  _ Napoleon called out as they dumped the Russian on the floor, locking the bars behind him and leaving yet again.

_ “ILLYA!” _ Napoleon yelled his name this time. “Wake up!”

Kuryakin’s eyes opened at last, hearing the familiar voice calling to him. He groaned as he rolled over, peering through the bars at his partner.

_ “Jesus, _ ” Napoleon swore as he saw his friend. Illya was covered in welts and burn marks. There were thin rivulets of blood coming from his nose and mouth, and one of his eyes was blackened.”

The Russian could barely speak above a whisper. He was sure the camera couldn’t see his lips. “They think I am you. Wanted UNCLE codes. Crazy, no care about...about Altshuler. You must get out. Stop him. Threat is real, I feel it.”

“Illya I won’t leave you.”

“Then-you-must-kill-me. Am not dying like this.”

“Now you’re the one talking crazy.”

Illya didn’t answer him. 

There was no way in hell Napoleon was going to kill his friend, or leave him behind for that matter.

A short while later the guards reappeared, opening Illya’s cell and dragging him out again.

“Take me, I have the information you need. Leave him be please?” Solo begged.

They laughed. “We know you’d say anything Kuryakin to save your partner. We heard about what good a liar you are too.”

“You’re wrong! I’m Napoleon Solo! Do I look like I’m a Russian? Come on?”

They continued to laugh as they disappeared with their prisoner in tow.

The American slammed his hand against his cell wall in frustration.

This time the helpless Russian was taken to a different room, laying him out on a stainless steel medical table, and there they strapped him down.

The cold of the metal was a welcome sensation to the painful welts and burns on his back. He was thinking he had cracked ribs, and there was a pain coming from his right knee but he dared not to try and move it. Come to think of it, his entire body was hurting him, so his request for Napoleon to kill him was more than reasonable, given he was going to be tortured again.

A petite woman woman entered the room, her hair short and curly. It looked as though was auburn but was slowly fading to grey. She was wearing a white lab coat and moved with care, favoring one of her legs with a slight limp.

Illya watched her with pain filled blue eyes as she prepared a syringe. She was a comely woman, with warm brown eyes.

“I’m Doctor Fischer and I’m here to examine you to make sure you’re capable of standing up to further torture. THRUSH likes their captives to live through their little inquisitions.”

She leaned in close to his face whispering to him as she checked his heart with a stethoscope. “I’m also a friend of Angelique La Chien and she asked me to give you a message.”

“What do I care what she has to say, that traitorous bitch,” Illya snapped back.

“You’re wrong! She was tricked by Central. They wanted you two...and yes I know you’re Kuryakin. The people who work here are nothing but morons and believed Angelique when she told them you were Solo.”

“You realize this place is going to be blown up by one of your former compatriots in a very short time? No one seems to care.” Illya whispered back to her.

“Angelique told me and that’s why I’m going to help you. She’s going to get Solo out of here before it happens.” 

He realized he apparently wasn’t included in the rescue, but when it came to Angelique, that didn’t surprise him.    
  
“We cannot let it happen, do you not understand? If Altshuler gets away with it, he is going to keep doing setting off more bombs until he brings the world to its knees and not just THRUSH. He is insane.”

Linda shook her head, ”Look I’m here to inject you with a strong dosage of morphine for the pain. That way you’ll get through your next session. You’ll have to fake it and scream now and then. Got it?”

“I do not think that will be too hard.” He winced as she jabbed the needle into his arm. Minutes later the opiate was doing its magic, making the pain go away and leaving him blissfully numb.   
  


The guards returned, removing Kuryakin from the table and holding him up as he could barely walk.

They took him back to the same room where he’d been tortured the first time. 

The same nimrod with the cattle prod returned, asking the same questions again and again, using the the same methods. THRUSH interrogators could be quite 

Punches, slaps, and zaps with the cattle prod and of course that forced Kuryakin to let out more screams.

The morphine was working beautifully, but still that wouldn’t prevent further damage to his body. 

Eventually it couldn’t take anymore and he passed out, despite the session being virtually painless as he could only take so many jolts of electricity.

The interrogator shook his head and marvelled at the staying power of Napoleon Solo. It was no wonder he was considered their best.

He had the agent returned to the observation room and strapped to the table again. There Solo would be permitted to recuperate until his next session. Dr. Fischer would see to that.

Napoleon looked up as two guards entered the cell block, but there was no Illya this time.

He was up against his bars in an instant. “Where is he?”

“Shussssh,” one of the guards whispered. 

“Aren’t you a bit short to be THRUSH goons,” he asked.

Solo shook his head as he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was platinum blonde hair under the beret of one of them and a lot of it. 

“Angelique, what have you done?” He growled.

“I will explain, just please trust me one more time?” 

She had a key in her hand and opened the cell door. Her eyes tried to plead her case but Solo would have nothing of it.

As soon as the door was unlocked Napoleon was out in a shot, grabbing her by the throat as he drove her backwards, and pinned her against the other cell door.

“Please,” she struggled to speak.” Let me explain.”

He released her, but was ready to choke the life out of her if he didn’t like what she said. Napoleon looked over at the other guard, a petite woman like Angelique. She was no THRUSH goon.

“Go ahead but make it quick.”

Angelique face flushed. It was obvious she was frightened; he’d never seen her like that before, even though he’d had his hands around her throat.

“They...THRUSH Central threatened to kill my sister  Émilie and her daughter Melisent if I didn’t give you to them. They want all the UNCLE master codes and as  Chief Enforcement Agent they know you have them in your head.”

“Then why are they torturing Illya? They think he’s me.”

“I told them the Russian was you. I couldn’t bear the thought of them hurting you, or perhaps ruining that handsome face of yours, not to mention certain other body parts. These idiots here have never seen anything on either of you so it was easy to mislead them.”

“Misleading people, something you’re very good at doing. So this thing with Altshuler was a ruse too?”

“No it’s real, he’s heading here thinking he’s going to destroy the wealth of THRUSH stored in the mines, Central has kept their gold bullion here since this place closed down in the late 50’s. They were trying to take advantage of the truce with your organization by capturing you and the Russian, and I’m supposed to stop Altshuler. You and Illya are supposed to mysteriously disappear in an explosion that kills Willie Altschuler as well. That was what they ordered me to do after they changed their plans and threatened my family.”

“Until you gave me the intelligence about your tracker, I really had no idea where he was headed. It was then Central made their threat and instructed their people here to capture you. I was to lead you down via the elevator, while the real entrance to the satrap is through a mine shaft located three miles from here.”

Napoleon relaxed, though for a split second he questioned if she were taking him for a sucker. He looked into her eyes, those beautiful enticing yet frightened eyes and he believed her.

“I have to get you out of here, I can’t do this to you Napoleon. It’s not right.”

“But won’t it jeopardize your sister and niece, who you never told me about before by the way?”

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me darling.”

“Excuse me you two but we need to get out of here,” the other woman interrupted.

“And you are?” Napoleon asked.

“Dr. Linda Fischer, I guess formerly of THRUSH. I sort of helped your partner through his latest torture session….and don’t fly off the handle.” 

Her hand automatically went to her throat. “I gave him morphine so the screams you’ve been hearing this time have been faked, as least I hope they were?”  

Linda wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing to the poor guy. She’d only seen a few torture sessions  and they were pretty gruesome. Truthfully she didn’t think the blond was going to make it through another one. The morphine was just her way of helping him to pass without any pain.

“Where is he?”Napoleon demanded.

“He’s probably dead,” Linda said, taking a step back from the UNCLE agent as she feared another violent reaction.

“Well let’s go find out. Napoleon grabbed her rifle and Angelique’s, removing the magazine from both weapons and stuffed those in his pockets.

He quickly waved his hand towards himself,” Give me your handguns.” 

Angelique and the doctor complied without question and he then handed them back the rifles.

“I want you to pretend you’re escorting me as a prisoner to where they took Illya.” He tucked one pistol in the back of the waist of his pants; his suit jacket would cover that.

“But we need to go Napoleon, we must stop Altschuler,” Angelique protested.   
“Not without my partner.”


	13. Chapter 13

Angelique handed Solo the pistol from her gun belt.

“I understand, really I do.”

“I figured you would.” He tucked that gun in his right pocket, and raised his hands above his head. “Now let’s go.”

The two THRUSH women walked behind him, each with their heads lowered, jabbing the barrels of their rifles into his back while urging him along.

“Easy,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“Darling, you want it to look real don’t you?”

“Go through that door,” Linda said.”Prepare yourself, it won’t be a pretty sight.”

They escorted him inside, with the two women ducking behind Napoleon so the interrogator wouldn’t immediately see their faces.

Illya was laying on his back, strapped down on the stainless medical table. There were electrodes attached to his head with wires running to a nearby machine sitting on a table. The interrogator stood, poised beside it.

“What’s zees? I did not call for Kuryakeen?” 

Napoleon lowered his hands,”Well you see they were told you weren’t having any luck with my partner so they wanted you to have a go at me…apparently.”

“Who ze hell are they and why is zis priss-oner addressing moi?”  He suddenly spotted Angelique and Linda, but before he could say another word, Solo drew the gun from his pocket and took him out.

“Illya?” He rushed over to his partner, pulling away the electrodes from him and feeling for a pulse.

“I am all right Napoleon! Get these bloody bindings off me.”

Solo complied and as soon as the Russian sat up he spied the two women. 

“What the hell are they doing here and why is _ she  _ still alive?”He pointed a shaking finger at Angelique.”Give me your gun and I will take care of her, permanently!”

“Not going to happen...long story pal We have to get out of here and stop Altshuler now. We’re almost out of time.”

Illya stepped from the table and nearly went down; his  legs felt like rubber.

“Umm, that might be the morphine,” Linda said.”It can cause shakiness in the legs, arms hands or feet.”

“Come on tovarisch, I’ve got you.”Solo wrapped his arm around his partner’s waist, and held onto Illya’s arm as it rested across the American’s shoulder.

“Hurry, this way,” Angelique called. She led them to the elevator and the four of them climbed on. 

As it reached ground level and before exiting, Illya pried open a control panel and disabled it, ensuring no one would be able to follow them using the elevator.

“Are there any other ways they can come out after us?” He asked the doctor.

“The only other exit is three miles away, and that’s staircases leading from each level to the surface. It’s a long walk.”

That at least was a bit of good news as they headed directly to the car. This time the good doctor got behind the wheel as she knew where to go.

When they slowly pulled up near the mine entrance; they spotted the van. Altschuler was already here.

Linda was told to stay in the car with Illya but he refused.

“I am all right to go with you,” he insisted. “My legs are better.”

Seeing no one around, they checked inside the van and found the makings of five more mini-bombs. Kuryakin being the demolitions expert made quick work of them, disassembling the parts. The nuclear material was already self contained so safety wasn’t an issue.

One by one they were carried back to the car and deposited in the trunk, leaving nothing in the van but the remnants of snipped wires.

When Dr. Fischer asked what was being put in the trunk, she paled at the word  _ nuclear _ and decided it was safer to stay with Angelique who had volunteered to stand guard by the mine entrance as a lookout.

“I’ll need something more powerful than this.” Angelique held up her silver pistol, which she had on her the whole time.

It didn’t surprise Solo, really.

“See darling, I was trustworthy and didn’t kill the Russian, or you for that matter when I could have easily done so.”

He gave her one of the rifles as . The other Illya kept and Solo still had the two hand guns.

Napoleon insisted the good doctor be armed and held out his hand for Angelique to surrender her pistol. 

“Come on,” he waved his fingers.

Angelique huffed as she handed it over. “Please be careful with it, it was a gift from my father.”

“Umm sure,” Linda said as she reluctantly accepted it,”but I don’t know how to use a gun.”

Illya hid his impatience and gave her a quick lesson.

“That is the safety. It will not fire unless it is off. Flip the switch thusly, point the gun away from yourself and at the target,  Gently squeeze the trigger and do not turn your head away while you are doing so or close your eyes. Keep a firm double-handed grip like this. There will be a recoil… a kick when you fire so hold the gun firmly and do not let go.”

“Will you get going Illya,” Angelique said.” I can tell her what to do. I know how to shoot  _ my _ pistol.”

“I am sure you do, I was just showing her a courtesy, as she was kind enough to show one to me.”

“You two sound like an old married couple,” Fischer remarked, and for that she received two very dirty looks.

“Angelique are you still wearing your clothes beneath that  _ ill fitting _ jumpsuit?” Illya asked.

“What do you think?”

“Strip it off and give the uniform to me.. _.please. _ It will make it harder for anyone to see me in the cave, rather than me walking in there like this, half naked.”

As much as she claimed that she detested the Russian, the thought of seeing him in the buff was suddenly appealing to her, his Soviet origins notwithstanding; he was a rather handsome specimen, though Solo had the more classically handsome looks.

She slowly undid the green jumper, trying to tease him into watching her, but it was pointless. She was after all still wearing her khaki clothing, though it was dreadfully wrinkled now. He really did deserve that nom de guerre,  _ the Ice Prince. _

“Here you are,” she handed it over.

“Thank you.” Illya quickly dressed himself and joined his partner before heading into the entrance of the mine.

The tunnels were illuminated inside by strings of lightbulbs, hanging overhead, giving just enough light for Napoleon and Illya to see as they carefully walked..

Dr. Fischer had never been in the mine and therefore knew nothing of the layout, so they were on their own.

There was the sound of water dripping inside and it echoed as it plopped to the floor in small puddles.

Finally the the tunnel forked and Solo indicated silently that he would take the right; giving his partner a thumbs up as a sign of good luck.

They split up, walking with the utmost care. Solo kept moving forward, until finally he realized his tunnel was a dead end.

Illya moved down his tunnel, but froze when he heard the voice of Willie Altschuler.

“This is but the beginning,” his voice echoed.” THRUSH wouldn’t back my plan for world conquest and now they’ll pay the price.

The Russian dared to peek around the corner and saw the man standing in front of a large metal door, like the kind protecting a bank vault.  

Altschuler was holding up a small black handheld remote and at his feet was one of the completed bombs. It was active, waiting for the code to be entered and the countdown to begin.

For some reason Altschuler called out the code,“ _ 1-4-5-7-6-2-3.”  _ Perhaps reminding himself of it as he began to enter it into the device.

Illya rushed him, trying to grab the remote and as they struggled Altschuler was able to punch in the last digit.

“It’s too late! See!” He staggered back pointing to the bomb.The countdown has begun. It’s the beginning of the end!”

“I do not think so. You are quite mad, and mad men never win.” Illya grabbed the rifle he’d tossed and pointed it at Altschuler; shooting him dead without hesitation.

The red digital readout on the bomb was ticking away counting down the minutes, and it had been set for an hour.

Kuryakin knelt beside the dead man, pulling the remote from his grasp.

In the heat of the moment, he’d only heard the code uttered once. Though Illya had an eidetic memory it was only for the written word, and not spoken. 

He struggled trying to recall the numbers Altschuler said.  One by one he punched them in to the remote.

“ _ 1-4-5-7-6-...” Chyort!”  _ Illya cursed, he knew the last number was 3 but what was the number before it?

If he entered the wrong code, then it could accelerate the count down.

He squeezed his fist tightly as he closed his eyes, trying to envision in his head the scene of Altschuler calling out the numbers. 

Illya froze in place though when he heard an all too familiar sound and that was the cocking of a rifle.

He slowly turned his head and saw Fritz standing there with a bead on the Russian’s head.

“Drop the remote Kuryakin.”

“Altschuler is dead. It must end here, surely you do not want this bomb to go off? Illya spoke softly, but with a deliberateness to his voice.

“The plan is the plan. If I have to set the other bombs by myself then I will. I’ll be in charge then, yeah. Nobody will boss me around ever again.” He poised with his finger on the trigger, preparing to pull it. 

“Hey what about me you dumb shit,” his brother Adolph stepped up beside him.

“I meant  _ us  _ Adi,” Fritz covered himself. “Now say your prayers UNCLE man.”

“BANG!” The shot echoed again and again throughout the tunnels, followed immediately by another loud bang.

Fritz stood there, his eyes wide as he dropped to the ground and did his brother Adolph.  

Behind them stood Napoleon. 

“I heard tovarisch...you remember the code?”

“Give me a second?” Illya calmed himself, again trying to remember what it was.

“I have it! It is 2!  The code is  _ 1-4-5-7-6-2-3!”  _ He punched in the last two digits and the bomb suddenly began to beep. It became faster and faster, and Napoleon and Illya looked each other in the eye for the last time.

_ “Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep _ ...silence.” The digital readout had gone blank.

“That was close,” Solo muttered as he gave his partner a hand up.

“Owww!” Illya yelped.”My knee!” He mumbled a curse to himself.” I was afraid it was going to give out.”

“I take it the morphine has worn off?” 

“You could say that.” 

The pain he was experiencing was evident in his voice.

The only thing Napoleon could do was help his partner hobble to the exit where the women waited.

“We have company!” Angelique shouted.  A shot  ricocheted on the rocks at the top of the mine entrance, over the agent’s heads, sending bits of stone flying everywhere.

The two men dove behind the boulder with Angelique and Linda. The femme fatale agent had already fired her rifle several time while the doctor crouched, frozen in fear.

The gun was still in Linda’s hands just as she’d been instructed hold it and she’d aimed it a goon who stood up to charge them, but couldn’t fire it.

She was a doctor dammit;  supposed to save lives and not take them, but then again she’d violated her hippocratic oath by working for T.H.R.U.S.H. hadn’t she?  

“The hell with it!” Dr. Fischer barked as she squeezed the trigger, and downed the man, much to her surprise.

The goons kept coming at them, but having the boulders as cover, the others managed to hold them off; killing or wounding most of them. 

The four of them crawled out from behind their cover behind the boulders once the coast was finally clear.

“Well that was fun,” Angelique said.

“Speak for yourself,” Fischer said.

“Ladies you both did quite well, thank you,” Napoleon said. “And there’s more good news as Illya was able to disarm the bomb in the cave.”

“Altschuler and his associates are dead. So this is at an end,” Kuryakin added.

“Well maybe for you,”Linda said.”T.H.R.U.S.H. is going to come after us aren’t they Angelique? We’re as good as dead.”

“Oh darling don’t be so melodramatic. We’ll simply say the men from U.N.C.L.E. were able to overpower the satrap, killing everyone except us.  Apparently they don’t like doing such a terrible thing to women. You just stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” the doctor sighed. She noticed Kuryakin having trouble walking and called out to him.

“Morphine wore off?”

“Most definitely.”

Linda drew something out of her green jumper pocket. It was a syringe. “I have one more dosage,” she smiled.

Illya gratefully nodded.” Thank you, for a member of T.H.R.U.S.H you are not so bad.”

She blushed with embarrassment; she might be slightly older but she wasn’t dead and found the Russian quite attractive.

“Now how do we get out of here?” Angelique asked.

“I suggest you take the van, while we exit with the car,” Napoleon answered.

“Not before you collect the remaining bomb inside the mine, my friend.” Illya added. He wasn’t in any shape to walk back in there and manage it by himself, at least until the morphine kicked in.

“Correct. Angelique, take a walk with me for a minute?” Solo asked.

She joined him as they wandered out of earshot from the others. 

“I wish you’d just been truthful and told me what Central was trying to force you to do?” He took her by the arm.

“We all make mistakes darling, don’t we?” 

“I suppose.”

“So that means you do forgive me Napoleon?” 

“Yes I do, but don’t let it happen again,” he smiled. “Though my partner might be of a different mind.”

“I can’t promise it dearest, but I’ll try. You helped save my sister and niece really, and that I will remember.”

“So Pax?”He whispered, pulling her close to him.

“Peace darling.”

They embraced in a long kiss, saying good bye for now, and finally parted.”

_ “A bientot.” _ She whispered and headed towards the van, and he to retrieve the device. 

Angelique walked past the car where the Russian  was sitting atop the hood.He slipped down to his feet, standing beside her.

“I am sure Napoleon will explain your behavior to me,” he said.

“Yes he will. I want to apologize for the position in which I put you, and the torture. Can you forgive me?”

Illya looked into her eyes, seeing the glimmer of sincerity in them. “Just this once, I suppose.”

Angelique leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Take care of that partner of yours, he really is special...to both of us.  _ Au revoir.” _

She turned away, not waiting for a response, though Illya had none to give, not this time. He watched as she climbed into the van, joining the doctor and as the two of them drove off, disappearing into the darkness.

Napoleon came up behind the Russian, and wordlessly tucked the deactivated bomb into the trunk.

“I’ll drive tovarisch,” he said.

“Just make sure you have no accidents, since we are carrying six nuclear bombs in the trunk of our car.”

“Point taken.”

Napoleon slipped into the driver’s seat and starting the car; slowly they pulled away.

When they reached civilization they were able to contact Waverly via telephone and apprise him of the success of their mission. Napoleon omitted Angelique’s duplicity, and failed to mention the existence of her sister and niece as well.

Illya having heard the whole scenario already agreed with his partner’s summation to Waverly. Now he understood  the why’s and wherefores as far as what Angelique had done.

He was genuine in his forgiveness of her for the moment Illya also knew there would always be a next time when she had the opportunity to betray Solo or himself yet again, though he said nothing to Napoleon about his feelings. 

He had a reputation to uphold when it came to that woman; she was T.H.R.U.S.H. after all.

Waverly made arrangements for his agents to have an  escort from the UNCLE office in Toronto the across the Canadian border, given what they were carried.  Once arriving back in the United States the American military agreed to take possession of and the disposal of the devices.

Several weeks later Napoleon and Illya were in their office in headquarters going over an addendum to their report on what was now dubbed ‘The 7 Cities Affair.’ 

Teams of agents had been sent to the satrap in Belleterre only to find it destroyed and the vault in the mine opened and emptied.

“One could only suspect Angelique might be the source of a warning to Central,” Illya said.”The good doctor would have most likely divested herself of the situation as best she could, following Miss La Chien’s lead.”

“I doubt if Angelique took it upon herself to raid the vault as that would surely make her a hunted woman,”Napoleon said, “ though she does love the finer things in life.”

“There must have been a lot of gold in there, and a great temptation to a woman like her. Dare I remind you, she did have a van?” Illya suggested. He suddenly lowered his head, drifting into a melancholy mood.

“Napoleon though we stopped this madman Altschuler, albeit with Angelique’s help, I am not feeling all that good about it. There will be another to take his place as always, maybe not with nuclear bombs but with something else, some bizarre plan that will yet again threaten the world. Sometimes I feel as though we are spitting into the wind, while they keep coming at us.”

“Illya what’s wrong?

“What if we no longer succeed in stopping them?”

“Ah, there’s your fatalism coloring your thinking again tovarisch. We’ll beat them, maybe we’ll falter now and then but we’ll keep knocking them down one lunatic at a time.”

“Napoleon, your eternal optimism will be your downfall someday.”

“And your fatalism sometimes gets old, Illya. If everyone gave into such thinking then the world would be in the hands of the likes of T.H.R.U.S.H. in no time. Me, I choose to fight the good fight, and I’ll be damned if the bad guys are going to win.”

Kuryakin actually smiled, though shyly. “I did not say I was giving up.”

“You better not!” Napoleon gave his partner a little punch in the arm.

“Owwww, my shoulder, remember?”

Solo looked at him, ready to apologize. “Wait a minute, your shoulder is fine.”

“Gotcha,” the Russian chuckled.

The intercom on the wall interrupted their conversation.

“Mr. Solo a package arrived at Del Floria’s. It was taken and inspected by the bomb disposal squad and they found it safe.”

“And?” Napoleon asked. “What is it?”

“Well sir, “she hesitated, “ There was a card...it’s from Angelique La Chien. It was attached to a bottle of 1815 Napoleonic brandy.”

There was silence.

“Sir should we open it and have it tested for poison?”

“No noooo, that won’t be necessary,” Napoleon smiled. “I’ll come get it myself. It’s fine.”

“Yes sir. It’ll be waiting for you in the Security office. Oh and yes, there’s also a case of vodka for Mr. Kuryakin but there’s no note.”

That surprised the Russian, as he presumed it was from Angelique as well, and perhaps a statement. Did she think he drank that much?

“And what did we just say about Angelique and the T.H.R.U.S.H. gold?” Illya reminded his partner.

“Loose lips sink ships tovarisch.”

“What? Is this yet another of your ridiculous idioms?”

“Nevermind.” Napoleon walked out the office door, smiling to himself, followed immediately by his partner who caught up to him.

“Loose lips sink ships, I get it now.”   
“About time.”


End file.
